


Jamais Vu

by stygianalpha



Series: remember the fires of home [RVB Zombieverse] [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Government Conspiracy, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Minor Character Death, Post-Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:39:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 165,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2104884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stygianalpha/pseuds/stygianalpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The virus that started it all spread quickly, crippling the entire world - but humanity persisted and civilization continues. To go into areas abandoned by the government is a death sentence, only chosen by those with no other choice. </p><p>Or someone seeking a very large paycheck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. so I lost my head a while ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. sincerest apologies for a rather large authors note right at the beginning of a mega huge fic. :)
> 
> >> updated tags + characters + warnings on 6/22/2015.  
> >> story contains both minor and major character death. when I originally posted this story, I chose to left off the 'major character death' warning to prevent spoilers. since then, I have accepted that not warning readers of an important person's death is kind of a shitty move when the ability is given to me. please be aware of these things while reading.  
> >> nearly every character from RvB is included in this fic. keyword being nearly. story was originally started in the middle of season 12, so anyone introduced in season 13 is not included. 
> 
> aside from lolix and chex, story includes the following ships as vague hints peppered throughout. if you read carefully, you can add others for your own reading pleasure.  
> \-- mainewash  
> \-- yorkalina  
> \-- southct  
> \-- grimmons  
> \-- bitters/palomo  
> \-- washlix (heavily onesided, much more obvious than the others)

There was no sound of the cities out here, not even a whisper of the existence of man. There was the wind, whistling through the tree branches. There were the sounds of insects and birds carried on each breeze, and somewhere a wolf was howling. The sound caused Felix to raise his head, looking to the south. There wasn’t a sure fire way to tell, but he was almost positive that that was the sound of a non-infected wolf. It was always difficult to tell the difference between animals; the virus didn’t seem to affect their vocal chords the way it did with humans. In any case, it sounded far off – and he hoped that wasn’t the wind talking. He hoped that wolf, wherever it was, stayed far away from him.

Right now, Felix was alone. The only company he had was the forest and a bird that was becoming increasingly agitated. He was busy climbing a very large tree, one with a very thick trunk. His assault rifle was slung across on his back, banging into him as he rose further. Tied tightly around his waist with a coil of rope was a pack, one that held the few supplies he had. He was forced to pause every so often to look down, make sure the bag hadn’t caught on anything, and then pull it loose if it had. It could be difficult, balancing on branches with only one hand for extra support, but if the bag was stuck, then so was he.

The bark was slicker on this tree than the usual ones he climbed at night, so when his hands slipped from the branch he grabbed onto, it wasn’t the first time. At least now he only fell two feet before catching himself. Soon, Felix had climbed more than thirty feet off the ground, pulling the pack up after him and placing it in between his legs. He sat now on a large branch, leaning against the trunk behind him, rifle digging into his back. One leg fell casually off the side of the branch as Felix allowed himself a brief respite. He had been moving most of the day, and before he could catch a few hours of sleep, he had to make sure he wasn’t going to fall out of the damn tree.

Dusk had fallen by the time Felix pulled open his pack. It had multiple compartments - one with ammunition and a set of throwing knives, another with two bottles of water and a few military rations, the last with a medkit and another rope. He grabbed the rope, pulled it out, and rose carefully to his feet to reach for one of the branches above him. It took a while, but he managed to secure the rope around one branch and then around himself before he settled back down with his pack in his lap. Night was coming, and he hoped that this high off the ground, nothing would find him. Before the last light left him, Felix pulled roughly on the rope; his knot held. Good. That knot would be the only thing that saved him if he rolled off this branch during the night.

Felix hated being out here alone.

He had been with his partner. He’d had a van loaded with anything a guy would need to survive. Weapons, ammo, food, water, clean clothes. He’d even had a motorcycle, one that spent most of its time locked to the floor of the van, but it was still _his_ motorcycle. He wished he had it now, wished for the bike and the full body armor he had been given at the beginning of this job. Nothing deterred zombie bites quite like kevlar suits reinforced with pliable steel sheets.

Now all he had was the clothes on his back and one gun. He shifted his weight on the tree branch, pulling the assault rifle into his hands, and sat scowling into the darkness.

While he was at it, Felix wished he was back at his apartment hundreds of miles from here. He could have turned this job down, denied Locus the right to take the van, and watched the asshole try to find another reliable vehicle to take into infected hot zones. Have a nice laugh before calling someone over for dinner and sex. But Felix was an idiot. He had seen the estimated payout, the huge bonus tacked to the end for the jobs’s completion, and he had agreed right away. He had let himself be fucked into exhaustion that very night, their last night before setting off. Then again the next night, and countless nights after that. He had shared damn near everything he had - and how did Locus repay him?

By taking the van.

By leaving Felix in a hot zone with hardly any protection.

And by not answering his fucking phone. Felix left him messages, sure, angry messages filled with threats that got him nothing. He left another one tonight after digging the phone out of his pocket. High-quality, best phone money could buy, upgraded with illegal tech to get a signal no matter where he was, and Locus had one exactly like it. Which meant that his calls were going through, and that Locus was just being a giant prick for no reason.

He had only one other person in his phone that he could trust to contact out here, but she answered even less than Locus did and he wasn’t about to waste his time.

It was his third night since Locus had sped off without him, and Felix was pissed. He sat in the tree, and listened. Birds. Insects. An owl called somewhere nearby, and another answered. The wolf howled again, closer now. Night was the most treacherous time to be out in these zones, where the lack of light could lead to death with one dumb accident. Trip over a tree root - caught by the walking dead. Fall out of a tree - snap a bone, lay helpless and wait for the walking dead.

It was hours later before Felix fell asleep, crouched over his rifle and his pack and dreaming of zombies eating Locus’s smug face. He could even smell the rotting flesh coming off the dead in waves. It was a pretty good dream, up until he opened his eyes and the smell of rotten flesh didn’t leave. Still groggy from sleep, Felix squinted against early morning rays of light and frowned. HIs back ached, his legs ached, and despite the disgusting smell lingering in the air, his stomach growled.

It took a while for the noises to reach him, the gnawing and mashing, and when he looked down at the ground, he saw three zombies eating the flesh off a wolf. It was very likely the one he had heard last night. All the weariness left him as he stared down, watching in sick fascination. Three of them, two men, one woman. The woman took a bit out of the wolf’s throat, dragging muscles and fur from the corpse as she pulled.  None of them looked up.

Felix sat still, thinking. He could wait for the three zombies to finish feeding and wander off, or he could put bullets through their heads from where he sat. He could even use his knives if he didn’t mind leaving three of them behind in the skulls of these bastards.

His phone going off cut off his train of thought. The loud music also drew the attention of the zombies, and all of them stared at him silently. He said, “Aw, shit,” and then they started groaning. Felix dug the phone out of his pocket without taking his eyes off the zombies. They were reaching up toward him, fingers scraping on the tree bark, groans turning angry. He didn’t look at the ID. “Who the fuck is this?” he snapped.

“Felix.”

Oh. Great.

“I need your help.” There was the sweet sound of regret in her voice, like she hated having to stoop this low. He would have enjoyed that in any other situation.

“That’s nice, but you see, I can’t do that.”  Those zombies really looked angry - well, except for one missing an eye. That one just looked stupid. “Some zombies have me treed.”

“What - ? Why are you in a tree?”

“I like to get close to nature. Please hold.”  He stowed the phone in his pack and focused the rifle. No other option left. He stared down the rifle’s sights at the one-eyed zombie and whistled. “You’re an ugly fucker,” he said quietly before he pulled the trigger. One bullet through the head of each one. He watched them fall before picking the phone back up. “Thank you for your patience. How has your day been? Because I almost got eaten.”

On the other line, there was silence for two seconds before she said, “I still need your help.”

Just as reluctant as earlier. He balanced the phone between one shoulder and his ear, reaching up to start untying the knots holding the rope to the branch above. “Give me a ride and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“I thought you had a van.”

“Locus took it.” If he sounded bitter, he was. Probably not something he wanted to make obvious around her, but too late now. “That’s why I’m in a tree. He took my goddamn van and now I’m out here playing with zombies. It’s a lot of fun, really, don’t know why I haven’t done this before.”

She cursed, sighed. “Fine. Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah, hang on…” Felix let go of the rope, knot half untied, to take the phone in his hands again. There was a GPS locator on it, something he had been forced to add before he and Locus had started doing jobs in the hot zones. He pulled it up, copied the coordinates of his location, and sent them in a text. Easier than reading them to her. Then he went back to the rope, waiting for her response.

“...Felix.”

Suddenly, she sounded way too serious. Felix froze, the slightest edge of anxiety creeping up. He hated when she got so serious. “What…?”

“You shouldn’t have fired your gun.”

“Why?”

“Because I just came from there, and there were about thirty zombies. Maybe more.”

Felix cursed. Loudly.

“And they’re probably on their way to you right now.”

“I’m going to fucking kill Locus when I see him again,” Felix growled. He let go of the rope, grasping his gun and straining to pick up any sounds of more zombies. On the other side of the line, he heard the sound of a motorcycle revving to life. “...Tex?”

“Be there in twenty.”

And then the line went dead. Felix cursed again, taking the phone in his hand just to shove it back in one pocket. He rose to his feet slowly, using the trunk of the tree for support. He yanked the pack up by the rope still tied to it, swinging it onto his back. Then he stilled, tensing, and waiting. _Twenty minutes_ , he thought as the wind carried the first moans to him. _I can do this._

Of course he could. Felix could do anything.

The first zombie stepped into view, shambling around a tree, and Felix had a bullet in its skull within seconds. He shot down three more the same way. They kept coming, like always, walking over the downed without hesitation, moving forward at different speeds. The older ones, the ones that had been dead longer, those moved slower. Felix ignored those in favor of taking out the ones that were moving toward him at a speed that was almost a run. Fresher zombies moved faster, having more dexterity than the older ones. A fresh zombie could take down a fit human easily, he had seen it happen.

But a pack the size of the one that was coming out of the trees would be a threat to anyone. There were far more than thirty, he could tell that at a glance. Felix was calm while he was shooting - the act of lining up steady headshots and killing these things usually kept him calm. But that dull edge of anxiety was digging into his gut. Every minute that passed since Tex had hung up on him just shoved it in deeper. He kept telling himself he could last twenty minutes on his own easily, that he was good, that this was what he did and he got paid for it.

The zombies were crowding around the bottom of his tree by now. He aimed down at them carefully, thanking every god above that the walking dead never figured out how to climb trees. He didn’t think of how many there were, he thought of the extra ammo in his pack and how many he could kill before he ran out. He thought of the fact that he wasn’t wearing his body armor. Didn’t even have the helmet with its reinforced visor.

Every drop of zombie blood became its own hot zone and Felix watched the ground turn red around the bodies when they fell. Asked himself how the fuck he was going to get out of this tree without stepping on zombies, without getting a drop of blood on his clothes.

Felix was not panicking, but he was becoming increasingly concerned for his own safety. It was the type of concern that came with biting anxiety and set his nerves alight with adrenaline. And if he was going to stand in a tree and think of the many ways this could end badly, he was going to blame it on the anxiety. Blame it on Tex and her stupid phone call.

He lowered the rifle when the magazine was empty, listening to the crowd below him scream angrily - because that was screaming. There was something that happened with zombies when they got in packs, where the moaning and groaning started to be abandoned in favor of growls and guttural screaming. When he was prepared to take on piles of zombies, Felix would laugh at their noises. He had, in the past, made the same sounds back at them. Right now, the sounds chilled him straight to the bone. And, all right, he could admit it to himself - the sight of them reaching for him, those goddamn noises … it scared the shit out of him.

Felix took the time to pull his phone back out, moving carefully. Afraid or not, he wasn’t going to do something stupid like drop his expensive phone into a pack of hungry zombies. He dialed Locus’s phone, waited for the voicemail to kick in, and spoke quietly. “Hey, you remember me, right? Your partner? Yeah. It’s me - again. Listen to this, will you?” He crouched down, stretching his arm out toward the zombies. They reacted like he expected them to and screamed louder, reaching for him and gnashing their nasty rotten jaws together. He was still too far for them to reach him. After a few seconds, he pulled the phone back to his ear. “That’s how my day is going. How’s yours? Have a nice breakfast? Enjoying the comfort of the van?

“I will fuckin’ murder you if you do this to me again. You’ll be lucky if I don’t shoot you when I see you next. I know, I know - you think you’re better than me. You’re wrong, but whatever, think what you want.” The mechanized voice interrupted him - twenty seconds left before he’d be cut off. “If I die, my entire goal in zombie-dom will be to find you and bite your fucking throat out, do you get me? This is bullshit. And I hate you.”

He dropped his phone back in his pocket, pulled the pack back around to take out another magazine for the rifle, and set to gathering up more headshots. At least Felix wasn’t one of those pansies who started to shake any time fear took them; his aim stayed steady, zombies kept falling.

The sound of a motorcycle’s engine was the best thing he heard the whole morning. Add the image of it flying out of the woods and Felix actually smiled. Crowd of zombies, meet Texas. Where Felix was good (very good), Texas was the best. Even he would allow that - there really wasn’t a zombie killing force quite like her.

Her bike screeched to a stop, and the zombies at the tail end of the pack turned her way. She drew pistols from her hips quickly, firing without hesitation. Four zombies dropped, each bullet slammed into a skull. She moved fast, downing four more before she even stood from the bike. Tex wore a suit crafted in the same way his own was, but hers was bulkier. Extra layers of steel were woven in between layers of fabric, making everything heavier but offering more protection. The helmet she wore was sealed shut, her gloves and boots strapped down and sealed as well - not a goddamn thing was getting through to Texas.

Which was a good thing, because Felix was watching her engage them directly. Sure, she shot them down, one bullet for each zombie, never missing. But she moved fast, aiming blows at their legs that broke their kneecaps and sent them to the ground. She slid the pistols back in their holsters, and began fighting zombies with her bare hands.

Felix would engage zombies at close distances, shove knives through their eyes and up their jaws - but he had never, never punched a zombie in the face and yanked its jaw off. He stared at Tex as she moved through the pack, watched her lift a zombie and throw it into three more, and then he called down, “Y’know, I don’t have protective gear you fucking psychopath!”

Tex paused. There was a rifle on her back and she swung that around to shoot the nearest zombie in the face. “Where the fuck is your gear?” she yelled back. Angry. Tex was angry. That was great, an angry Tex wasn’t a bad thing at all.

Felix scowled. He untied the rope from the branch quickly, jumping down to a lower one. He didn’t answer her, but raised his rifle and started firing again.

Tex didn’t punch anymore zombies, but she still shot them down faster than he did. There were only ten left when she spoke again. “Get to the bike,” she said, a touch of anger in her voice. “There’s an extra pair of gloves and some goggles in one of the sidebags. It’s the only thing I’ve got to give you.” She paused to shoot a zombie that was reaching for him. “Try not to inhale anything.”

He let go of his rifle, edging out on the branch as far as he was willing to go. The zombies underneath him had turned to Tex, so he leapt to the ground without them noticing. It was a fifteen foot drop easy and he had to resist the urge to roll with the impact - his boots landed in a fairly large sized puddle of blood. Thick, coagulated zombie blood. Felix grunted, feeling the impact up past his knees, jarring, and pushed himself forward.  The bike stood less than twenty feet away, and Felix charged. He heard Tex firing as he ran, could even hear the wet crack as one of the zombies was hit.

Tex’s bike was clean, painted a sleek black, and probably wasn’t big enough to carry two people. There was a bag on each side, and Felix found her extra gloves in one and the goggles in the other. By the time he had snapped the goggles over his head, Tex had backed up to the bike. She swung onto it a second before he did and had it roaring an instant later. Felix barely had time to sling one arm around her waist before she was speeding off through the trees. The sounds of the dead were drowned out instantly by the engine. Tex steered smoothly around the trees, racing back towards the road, bouncing over tree roots.

Once the road showed up, she turned sharply, pouring on speed. Felix slid his other arm around her waist, turning his head out of the wind. Tex’s bike was absolutely not made to support two people and at the speed she was going, he felt like he was going to fly off the back of it at any moment.

She drove straight for what felt like hours, way past the point where Felix would taken a break to stretch. The road changed from maintained and well-paved to being full of potholes and cracked asphalt that Tex swerved around without slowing down. They passed some uninfected deer once and Felix caught a fleeting glimpse of them bounding into the trees. A pang of sadness hit him as he watched them go; he would have stopped to shoot one. Fresh meat was such a rarity now.

Tex finally slowed when she pulled onto a dirt road. They were headed up now, into the crest of mountains that overlooked the forest. Eventually, the endless trees on either side of them started to fade into sparser forests and clumps of bushes. The road became more rock than dirt, and still Tex drove on. The sun was nearly in the center of the sky when she finally stopped by a small cabin that sat near the edge of a very steep, very rocky downslide.

Felix stepped off the bike instantly, stretching his arms over his head before sighing. “Oh my god, I think my ass is numb,” he muttered.

“Don’t be a baby,” Tex said dryly. She reached up to pull her helmet off, shaking her hair loose. She looked in his direction, staring at him fiercely. “You’re lucky I saved you.”

“I would have lived,” he said. “You’re the one who said you needed my help.”

She got off the bike then, flicking the kickstand down as she did. She hung the helmet on one handlebar and didn’t look his way, heading instead into the cabin. Felix watched her go, frowning slightly. He was never on good terms with Texas. Not that he was on good terms with anyone these days, but those that went by codenames? Yeah, those were the worst. All of them had some hidden temper and Felix held the skillset to flare up every one of them. The only reason he knew Texas, the only reason he had her number in his phone, was because they had met so often by chance in the past few months.

She was always on her own, armed with more guns and ammo than one person should carry at once, always searching for refugee camps. She was looking for something, but whatever it was, she wouldn’t talk about. Wouldn’t accept help from people unless it was absolutely necessary.

Which was why Felix was suddenly so very wary about having ridden all the way up here with her. He sighed and started toward the door of the cabin. Once there, he pushed it open a few inches, calling, “Hey, Tex?”

No answer.

“Seriously, what the hell did you want from me?”

The door was ripped open and he was faced with Tex’s glare from two feet away. “I wanted your help when you had a van and all that riot gear,” she spat. “Not you with nothing but one rifle - and give me back my goggles.”

“If I could find Locus, I’ll have the van again,” he said. He reached up to pull the goggles off and she snatched them out of his hand. He wasn’t sure yet if he wanted to help her, but if he could convince her to help find his van then maybe he’d feel more like handing out favors. “And with the van comes all the gear, and the weapons, and the ammo - ”

Tex leaned against the cabin’s door. “Why did Locus take your van? Having a little fight with your boyfriend?”

Felix opened his mouth, shut it, and huffed. “Wow, no, don’t… don’t ever say that again. I can’t - just no, okay? Not my boyfriend.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Whatever you wanna tell yourself.”

“He’s _not_. Okay?”

“Pretty sure you’re protesting too much.”

“Tex, for god’s sake - ”

He stopped.

Tex frowned.

Felix’s obnoxious ringtone blared from his pocket.

“Why don’t you turn that damned thing off?” Tex asked.

“No one ever calls,” he said, fishing it out and staring down at the screen. Well. Speak of the devil. Felix answered the call, saying in the most overdramatic fashion he could, “Light of my life! If I knew a zombie hoard was all it would take for you to call me back, I would have gotten attacked sooner!”

Tex snorted in front of him, trying and failing to stifle her laughter.

Over the phone, Locus sighed. “There’s no need for this, Felix.”

Translation: _No need for the bullshit._ Felix dropped the act, glared at the door frame, and spat, “I almost died because you took my goddamn van, you fucking bastard. Pretty sure I can talk to you however I want. I earned it, y’know, what with managing to not die.”

“About that.”

“Unless you’re going to offer to give me back my van, I don’t care.” He watched Tex disappear inside the cabin again as he talked. “Or you could die, that’d be a good enough bargain - if I get to watch it. I want to watch you get torn to shreds by a pack as big as the one that tried to eat me. Either that, or the van.”

“Felix.” Locus sounded like he was tired - which was either hilarious or panic worthy, Felix wasn’t sure which. “I have called you three times today.”

“Oh, really? Is that supposed to make me feel better? I called you a lot too, y’know - didn’t get me anything, you giant dick - ”

“My phone wasn’t charged.”

Felix scoffed. “Bullshit.” There was a charger in their van, one that he and Locus shared. “If my phone can stay on the entire three days you left me in the fucking wilderness, then yours should have been charged too.” He neglected to mention that he had kept his phone off for most of those three days, usually only turning it on to check the time and leave Locus angry messages.

Locus ignored him. “Is there any reason I had over fifteen messages all from you?”

“You’re a dick? I hate you? I was stranded in a zombie hot zone and had no one else to bitch at?” He had almost said that he had no one else to call but saying that would have meant signing his dignity over. “Do you have a point in bothering me? Like - ”

“The van,” Locus growled. “I know. Where are you?”

Felix paused. He glanced around him at the wilderness spreading out in every direction. High mountains to his right, steep decline to his left, and lots and lots of trees. Birds flew overhead. It would have been a nice view if he wasn’t so angry. Or so goddamn starving. “Tex’s mountain retreat. Had a thrilling ride here. Sorry you missed it.” Off in the distance to the left, he could make out the skyline of a city, hardly anything more than a haze. If he hadn’t known what it was, he might have written it off as a strange rock formation. Felix kept looking at it as Locus talked.

Locus said to meet him in a nearby town, one that had been abandoned years ago. He said he had no idea where Tex’s ‘mountain retreat’ was located, something that Felix doubted once he pulled his phone from his ear and had a look at the coordinates of the place Locus was talking about. It was less than an hour away, he figured, judging by how fast Tex drove the bike. “There’s only one hotel,” Locus was saying. “Meet me there.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I’ll explain what happened then.”

Felix resisted the urge to hang up on Locus. And the very strong urge to throw his phone off the side of this mountain. “No, I want to know now. Why the fuck did you take my van?”

Locus was quiet for a few seconds, leaving Felix to listen to his stomach growling and the singing of birds in the sparse trees. “I didn’t take the van, Felix. Someone stole it.”

“...What.”

“It’s not important.”

“How is that not important?”

“I have the van now.”

Three days ago, Felix and Locus had stopped a fair distance from a camp. There had been no way to tell how many people were there, but it was the first one they had seen for days, and Locus had insisted that they stop and take care of it. So they had left the van. Felix hadn’t bothered to put on the protective gear because they were going to be facing people - uninfected people, not zombies that would claw his eyes out and chew on his flesh. It hadn’t seemed like a problem.

It was supposed to have gone just like all the rest of these encounters had. Felix would stumble in, act like a scared and lost survivor of some nearby zombies. He was to charm them, the ragtag groups of people, get them to trust them as quickly as he could. It was never a sure thing because no one out here in zombie hot zones wanted to trust anyone else - and Felix was suspicious to almost all of them. What usually tended to happen was that Locus would watch from the shadows, waiting. Felix would be a distraction.

And when the moment struck, Locus would strike. He and Felix would knock each and every member of a group unconscious, they would take the most powerful weapons these groups had, and then they would finish their job. Which, depending on the current orders from Control, usually involved killing everyone there.

But the last one hadn’t been right from the start. Felix had stumbled out of the trees and had guns pointed at him instantly. These people hadn’t looked like they were going to fuck around - four of them, all with real expensive looking equipment. Not just their guns, but the vans they had parked alongside their campfire. The gear clipped to their belts. One of them had had a pair of night vision goggles strapped to his head. Another one was the biggest man he had ever seen, and one of the women looked as if she could have eaten him for breakfast. Felix had stared at them, they had stared back, and then Felix had heard the unmistakable sound of his van revving up. When he had left them, he had heard one guy say “Let him go”, as if Felix wasn’t a threat to them at all - and then the road had been empty. There hadn’t been a van, there hadn’t been any sign of Locus, and Felix had cursed and threw what was, in retrospect, a rather childish fit.

And now he was hearing Locus tell him that he shouldn’t have run off when he did.

Because Locus had stayed behind, Locus had gone into that campsite. Locus had asked all those heavily-armed people if they had seen anyone else come by - and they had described Felix. No one else, no one who could have taken their van. “You left,” Locus said now. “I didn’t. You did this to yourself.”

Felix didn’t want to believe it. He was not that stupid, not by a long shot. Still, he felt the heat rising in his face and cursed softly. “Okay, _assuming_ that you’re telling the truth here,” he started slowly. “how did you get the van back?”

“I got a ride to the nearest town,” Locus said. “It had been left there.”

He had a lot of questions about that, like: Why someone would take their van and drive it to an empty town and then leave it there? Was anything else missing? Did Locus really think he was stupid enough to believe this kind of story? But his phone was beeping incessantly in his ear now. “Look. My phone is dying.”

“Meet me tomorrow.”

“I don’t believe you, y’know.”

“Not surprising.”

Felix frowned. He lowered the phone and stared at the screen, at the little blinking icon that prompted him to charge it. He thought about Locus’s bullshit story and his face heated up again just at the thought that he had been so stupid as to set out on his own when Locus wasn’t even the one who had taken his van. There were a lot of holes in the story, he told himself. And it wasn’t true.

Still. Totally embarrassing.

He vowed to never let Locus tell that pile of bullshit to anyone ever again - not even to Felix himself. Sighing, Felix fought to relax again. He didn’t want to walk into Tex’s small cabin blushing because as much as he hated hearing about how stupid he _could have been_ , Tex would never let it go. And that was something he did not want.

Before he entered, he stole one last glance at the city on the horizon. Civilization, and so very far away. Felix took a deep breath to steel himself for a night spent with Texas and walked in, slamming the door behind him.

Tex’s cabin was small. It was almost completely one room, with only the bathroom actually walled off. The kitchen took up the space directly to the right of the door, consisting of only the bare essentials and not a lot of counter space. The fridge was the largest thing there. Right next to the kitchen, she had redone an entire wall with weapon racks framing a large map of the countryside that had been pinned to the wall. Large areas had been marked off in black, others in blue, but none of it seemed to have an actual pattern. A small bookcase stood in the corner to the left of the door, a smaller dresser beside it. There was one tiny table in front of the map, which was where Tex sat. In the back of the cabin was her bed, large enough to fit two people if they didn’t mind close contact. Felix was positive that was not where he would be sleeping tonight.

First things first, though. He demanded the use of her phone charger, which she obliged with a nod toward where it was plugged into the wall.

Second: “I want food. What do you have?”

Turned out that Tex had stew made from rabbits, birds, wild mushrooms, and onions, with spices she had lifted long ago from small towns. She pulled a pot of it out of the fridge and reheated it for dinner, along with two bottles of water. Felix ate three bowls with her silence as company. He told her about meeting Locus as she read a book. He had the feeling she wasn’t exactly paying attention to that book at all, nor him for that matter. Once dusk set in, she left to drag the motorcycle inside and then locked the cabin door behind her.

Felix took one of her books to read until he was bored enough to sleep, some tattered old thing full of myths. She let him borrow one of her startling amount of three pillows and a light blanket to sleep with, gave him the whole range of the floor, and advised him not to touch her bike or wake her up. In the darkness left after she turned out all the lights, Felix retrieved his phone from the charger and texted Locus. He didn’t expect Locus to answer, but it was still better complaining to the guy than having to lay in darkness and wait until he fell asleep.

He told Locus that Tex had boring books, that her cabin was too small. That her bike was faster than his, but not as nice, not by a long shot. That up here in the mountains, Tex’s cabin had three windows and not a single one had been boarded up or even given reinforced glass - and he knew this, he said, because he had knocked on each one until Tex had snapped at him to stop fucking around. He told Locus about how Tex wouldn’t talk to him and then stared at the next message he had typed. It said that even though Locus was a giant douchecanoe, Felix was looking forward to company that would actually respond to him.

After a second, he deleted it and typed, “You’re still a dickwad.”

That one got sent.

Felix tossed his phone aside, rolling over and trying to get comfortable on the cabin’s hardwood floor. It was easier than sleeping in trees, no ropes tied around him and no gun in his hands. He didn’t trust Tex and her perfectly breakable giant windows, but that did nothing to stop him from falling asleep. He dreamt of the job he and Locus had signed on for, of the many months they had already been at it and the long months that were sure to drag on before they could go home again.

Nearly ten months ago, Felix and Locus had signed a contract, one that had sent them out of the well-guarded city where they lived. They had signed on with a very shady company for a very shady job, but the payout was so sweet that Felix hadn’t been able to turn it down. And once he had signed, Locus had done the same. The man they had to answer to... he wouldn’t even give them his name, just a number and the codename ‘Control’. In all the months they had been out in the wilderness, Control had only called to send them on to big hits.

He and Locus had handled the bulk of the job themselves. It was simple, after all. They had been tasked with exploring the zombie infested hot zone that spread throughout most of the continental United States and up into the wilderness of Canada. It was rumored to dip into Mexico too, but thankfully their job didn’t involve traveling all the way down there. And throughout all the exploring, Locus and Felix were to hunt down anyone who had been living there illegally.

And then they were to kill each and every person they met.

It hadn’t always been that cut and dry. In the beginning, Locus had been given a tool, something that adhered electronic signatures to individuals and transferred their locations back to Control. They had been informed that this was going to be used to track every person and that, eventually, the forces that worked with Control would find these people and extract them from the hot zones. They had not been told where these people would be taken, and they didn’t ask. They did their job: Felix distracted everyone they met, Locus tagged them, and they moved on.

Every couple of weeks, more money was deposited into Felix’s bank account. Every time he saw the amount rise, Felix would grin and nudge Locus, and tell him another new thing they could do once this job was finished.

When the call came to start killing instead of tagging, Locus had shattered the tool Control had given them. He hadn’t explained why, but he had broken it into small pieces and then he had set fire to those pieces, and Felix had watched him from the back of the van. After that, Locus had started driving longer distances before stopping. They saw less people, and spent more time on their own than doing anything Control had asked of them.

In the darkness of Tex’s cabin, Felix awoke to a sudden loud roar. He jolted upright, half-formed images of zombies and Locus burning expensive things in the midafternoon sun layering together. The last vestiges of dreams about the past made him think, for a moment, that he was with Locus and not Texas.

Tex stood by one of her windows already. She glanced down at him when he moved and whispered, “Just a puma. Go back to sleep.”

Felix squinted in the darkness. Sleep sounded good, but pumas were big enough to turn into zombie cats and that was not a fun idea. He laid down anyway, not moving until he heard Tex get back into her bed. Then he groped in the dark for his phone, winced at the brightness of the light, and sent Locus one last message. “When this is done,” it said. “I want to go somewhere that doesn’t have giant zombie cats. Deal? _”_


	2. you seem to have done no better

The next morning, Felix had been shoved outside with no explanation. When he asked for breakfast, Tex had tossed him an apple and then slammed the door in his face. He listened to her locking it before he sighed and sank down to sit on the steps. The sun was just starting to creep over the mountains that rose behind him and long shadows stretched across the forests below. There was a chill in the air and Felix grumbled, wishing he had thought to take a jacket with him when he had left the van all those nights ago. It wasn’t cold yet, but he had the distinct feeling that all those big mountains were keeping the warm air from crawling over. He lazily tossed the apple he had into the air, sighing.

He sat there, waiting for Tex to unlock the door or at least tell him when they were leaving, and tried to ignore the cold. Just like he tried to ignore how dirty he was and how bad he smelled after three days without washing.

At least the apple was good.

He watched the light spread through the forest as he ate, watched the horizon as the city skyline started to become noticeable again. He had no way of knowing what city it was but he was willing to bet it wasn’t populated - an entirely abandoned city, just sitting out here and rotting away. Huge chunks of the continental United States had been abandoned, he knew, countless cities given up to the dead. Towns, communities, hundreds upon hundreds of acres just left to rot for over thirty years. Sitting there on the edge of a rising mountain, Felix tried to remember names of the large cities that humanity had left behind. Cities that would have been thriving and booming, cities that had existed close to the Rocky Mountains. All he came up with was Denver and Cheyenne.

Both of those were deserted. And both the states of Wyoming and Colorado were major dead zones.

Felix wondered before what life had been like for people before zombies had become the world’s biggest threat. Staring out at the distant city, he thought about how life must have been for all those people that used to live in the American west.

Somewhere around thirty-five years ago, an epidemic had taken hold of the population, and sped across the United States, Canada, Mexico - hell, it was everywhere. It had been elevated to a pandemic, something no one could fight or figure out -- and even now the records were contradictory. Some specialists said that it had been a so-called miracle cure for one of humanity’s big and (coincidentally) incurable diseases. A cure that had quickly gotten out of hand. Other sources said it was genetically engineered to do exactly what it had done, that it was an act of bio-warfare. If it was the latter, then whoever decided to bomb it at the United States had fired the same thing into central Europe, into China, Japan, South Africa, and countless other places all at once.

Whatever the cause, the effect had been conclusive. Humanity had buckled. People got sick, kept getting sick, and when they died, the virus brought them back. It brought them back as bloodthirsty monsters that had no sense of anything but spreading the virus and feeding, and no one knew why it acted like it did. Humanity persisted, of course, as it always did in the end. In the United States, the dead were pushed out of cities along both coasts. More and more areas were cleared out in almost every state and the dead exterminated - but most of the country was abandoned. Everything outside of protected cities became a hazard zone, numbered one through five, and anything higher than hazard level five was nothing but a dead zone.

What Felix called the hot zones.

The entire states of Colorado, Wyoming, both Dakotas, Montana, and Nebraska were identified as anywhere from a level six threat to a nine. The hot zones of the American west, basically. The hazard zones spread up into Canada, but no one seemed too concerned to take any of it back. Nowhere was completely safe, of course, but nowhere was as dangerous as out here.

Which probably explained why Texas lived here. Only the dangerous lifestyle for a bitch like her.

Felix tossed the apple core into the air, caught it, and stood. He threw it off the side of the mountain as hard as he could and was tracking its descent when the cabin door swung open again. Texas stood in the doorway, dressed in the bottom half of her kevlar body suit and a skin-tight sleeveless top. Her blonde hair was undone, falling around her shoulders. Felix stared at her and thought, not for the first time, that Tex had a fierce quality to her that made her really attractive.

Telling Tex that she was hot was liable to end up with him getting thrown bodily off the mountain, however, so Felix said, “Are we leaving?”

She answered with, “What size are you?”

“...What?”

“Clothes, Felix,” she said with a frown. “You smell like garbage. You’re not getting on my bike again in those clothes. So. What size?”

Felix frowned and pulled at his shirt. Dirty and smelly, yeah, sounded about right. He sighed, told her what she asked for, and watched her disappear around the door. After a few seconds, her voice drifted back, yelling at him to come back inside.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” she said. She was standing by the dresser, holding a pile of folded clothes. “Go shower. Wear these. They should fit.” He didn’t move beyond staring blankly at her, so she walked over, and dropped the clothes into his arms. “Seriously, ten minutes.”

Felix blinked and looked down at the clothes. Khaki pants, blue shirt, and a black jacket. “Why do you have male clothes, Tex?”

“Just go.”

She sounded like she was about ten minutes from beating the shit out of him instead of ten minutes from leaving, so Felix did the only logical thing. He listened. He took the clothes she had given him, promised himself not to ask where they had come from ever again, and then retreated into her small bathroom. The shower had good water pressure, but not a lot of hot water. Felix was in and out in under five minutes, but he still felt as if he wasn’t clean enough. But that was something that had persisted ever since he had entered the hot zones - never-ending grime and dirt caked into his skin.

The clothes Tex had given him had to have belonged to someone shorter than him. Not by much, but enough so that the legs of the pants didn’t quite reach his ankles. It would make pulling his boots on over them much easier, at least. His new clothes had also come with fresh socks but not fresh underwear, and he had considered just going without until he could get to his van. The impending ride on Tex’s motorcycle was the deciding factor. The thought of riding that damned thing sans underwear was like asking for his ass to be rubbed raw.

Before he left the bathroom, Felix stared at himself in the mirror. He was starting to get shadows under his eyes, something that could either make him look hotter still or make him look like a fucking homeless asshole. And he was willing to bet ‘homeless asshole’ was more likely to happen. Pity. He had used his good looks to charm a lot of people in the past. He pulled the jacket on before he left, zipping it up over a blue shirt so faded and light that he was sure it should have been thrown away years ago.

As soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, Tex started rushing him to get ready. He pulled his boots on at her table, listening to the sound of her pushing the motorcycle back out the door. Why she even brought it inside was a mystery - zombies didn’t drive.

He ended up being right about the pants. It was much easier to lace up boots over the end of pants that didn’t fit exactly right. It was the one advantage he had found in the strange clothes, seeing as when he bent over to pick his pack off of Tex’s floor, he could swear the shirt started to ride up his back.

Tex came back inside to pull on the jacket of her kevlar suit. “C’mon,” she said. “Time to go.” She had pulled all her hair up while he was showering, and slid the helmet on as she made her way back to the door.

Felix threw the pack and his rifle over his shoulders and started to her. “Don’t I get, y’know, those goggles from yesterday?” He still had the gloves she had forked over, had already put them on.

Tex’s helmet swiveled in his direction. “They’re with the bike. Now let’s go.”  She walked back out the door, and he followed. There was a rough edge to every word she spoke now, one that was both urgent and very angry. She wanted to leave, and she wanted to go now, he could tell that.

As she pulled the bike onto the dirt road, Felix tightened his grip around her waist and thought that Texas might have been more impatient to meet Locus than he was - and he was definitely looking forward to being back in that van. He may not have realized it until he got on the back of Tex’s bike, but this was now his fourth day away from his van and subsequently his stuff. He could do without seeing Locus for another day or two, but everything that came with meeting Locus again far outweighed the asshole himself.

Tex’s driving was slower than yesterday. Still fast, but not so fast that Felix felt like he was going to fall off every time she took a turn. She sped down the mountain road, pulling onto the asphalt at the end and heading in the same direction they had come from yesterday.

It hit him, just then, that hitching a ride with Texas had probably meant that he had passed Locus at some point. During that deadly ride yesterday, he and Tex could have sped right past his van - another reason to be irritated with Locus. That bullshit story from yesterday, the van, the idea that he had been so close to it and then gone right by - bullshit. So much bullshit. He felt the irritation gnawing at him now, and turned his thoughts instead to how satisfying it was going to be to punch Locus in the face.

Forty minutes later, Tex skidded the bike to a stop outside a small, broken down hotel at the edge of a small, broken looking town. The whole town, nestled in a small valley and surrounded by a thick forest, had become visible as they crested a hill that overlooked it. Once she stopped by the hotel, Felix could only see three other buildings; the others had disappeared behind trees and twisty roads. One looked like an old mechanics place, another might have been a gas station, and the last was someone’s house, half-hidden by overgrown weeds and vines. He ignored all of it in favor of vaulting off Tex’s bike and jogging toward the hotel’s entrance.

The hotel may have been a shabby piece of shit, but that was his precious van parked by its front doors. His van, with its grey paint flaking off and dimmed by the constant sunlight. It had stains on the front bumper from zombies that he had driven over in haste, and probably needed new tires. Felix reached it with a grin on his face that usually wasn’t sparked by such an ugly thing. He let his pack and the rifle fall to the ground beside it, and ran one gloved hand over its side. Felt the scratches and the dings and the small group of bullet holes near the back doors. He reached out to take the handle of one of the back doors when a hand landed on his shoulder.

Ah. Right. The downside. Tex pulled her bike up alongside the van, turning it off at the same time the grin fell from Felix’s face. He shrugged the hand off his shoulder and turned to glare.

Locus was wearing the entire full body armored suit. Complete with the helmet. The tinted visor on it nearly matched the darkness of the paint job on the helmet itself and Felix hated it. Made every conversation with the guy fall between infuriating and unnerving. Locus lowered his hand, resting it on the handgun strapped to his side.

“Hello, asshole,” Felix said flatly.

Locus’s response wasn’t even a word, just some kind of noise in place of a greeting.

Felix nodded, laughed - short and humorless - and then swung a fist at him. He aimed low, for Locus’s stomach, and expected Locus to block it. Just like Locus blocked the next one - the third one, he landed. And the fourth one; the fifth blow was a kick that glanced off the steel plating in Locus’s pants. But Locus wasn’t hitting him at all, just dodging  and grunting when Felix managed to land a hit. Somehow, not having a full on fight with the man was starting to piss him off more than being left in the woods.

He was aware of Texas standing nearby and watching them, and he heard her sigh when he said, “Do something, you fucking douchebag.”

Then Locus shot forward, twisting his fingers into the jacket Felix wore, and slammed him into the back of the van. He held onto the jacket, Felix’s hands scrambled to get a grip on his arms, and then Locus slammed him into the door again. Felix’s head bounced off it, the heavy steel door, and he cursed. Locus let go of the jacket with one hand to reach up and pull the helmet off his head. He met Felix’s glare with a steady gaze for a second before kissing him with such ferocity that Felix screwed his eyes shut instantly. It was more biting than anything else and when he finally relented enough to kiss him back, Locus’s tongue was in his mouth in a second.

Felix was _not_ moaning into Locus’s mouth. He was not letting Locus pull all the anger and tension out of him. No matter how strangely good it felt to have Locus run his hands up Felix’s throat and grip him by the jaw.

When Locus pulled back, both their lips were swollen, and Felix’s lower lip was bleeding. He glared at Locus, and said, “Still a douchebag.”

Locus let go of him then, but didn’t move back. “You’re an idiot,” he said. His gloved fingers ran down Felix’s chest and pulled at the jacket he wore with a vague interest. After a second, he took a couple of steps back and bent to retrieve the helmet. “Get inside,” he said as he straightened. “Food’s almost done.” He left, helmet in his hands, back to the front door of the hotel.

Which left Felix to snatch up his pack and the gun off the ground. He pulled at the back doors of the van but they held fast, locked tight. Couldn’t even drop his things inside it. He glanced back at the hotel, where Locus had disappeared into and, presumably, where Tex had gone as well because he couldn’t see her anywhere. It wasn’t much of a hotel, standing two stories and built like a ‘L’. The large windows that made up the front lobby had long since broken, and were now boarded up. Someone had nailed a closed sign onto the wood by the front door.

For a building that stood in the dead zones, the hotel’s lobby was surprisingly clean. He had expected the floor to be littered with glass shards and trash, maybe a decomposed corpse or two, but all he saw was a fine layer of dirt and grime. Something that could be cleaned up by one person with a broom, really. There was one dim light hanging overhead and the dull roar of a generator explained why that was even working. Chairs were scattered around the open floor, all wooden, all dusty. A pair of tables stood by one wall, also wooden, and also dusty. Felix wondered briefly what the hell this place was, but the smell of cooked meat overpowered all that quickly.

Locus stood at the back of the room, by another door. He caught Felix’s eye and smirked before shoving the door open and heading deeper into the hotel. Felix frowned, dropped his things into a nearby chair, and followed after him. If it wasn’t for the smell of meat making his mouth water, he would have refused because it felt a lot like being led into a trap.

The second door led to a much smaller room - maybe it had once been an office, but now there was nothing in it but dust and one old chair. He followed Locus through yet another door and here the generator was loudest. There were two of them, actually, both installed next to the doorway and hooked up to lots of wires.

Two working lights flickered over a small section of a rather large kitchen. Most of the place had been ransacked. There were large discolored patches that showed where working equipment had been ripped out. Almost every counter was covered in grime and dark stains that could have been anything from dried blood to mold to various spilled drinks or sauces. In the back, half-hidden by shadows, a pile of cabinets and old stoves had been shoved and stacked up against the wall. Two inches of double doors showed over the top of them, cracked open.

And right beneath the flickering lights, Locus was tending to a fire. A pile of firewood sat nearby, along with the only axe he and Locus owned. There was a single pot hanging over the fire, but the smell of cooked meat came from a pan that sat on the nearest dirty counter.

Felix sighed. “For some reason, I was hoping for a stove-cooked meal.”

Locus shot him a look, one that spoke volumes of how stupid Felix could be.

“I miss technology,” he said, ignoring Locus. “I miss stoves and ovens, and fridges that aren’t filled with maggots and bugs. Microwaves. Computers and TVs - and that one place downtown that serves pizza with whatever you want on it.” He reached over to pull a piece of meat out of the pan, grunting as the heat seared his fingers. It exploded with juices when he bit into it - venison. God fucking bless, Locus had shot down a deer. Felix pulled himself onto the counter by the pan. “Can we get a pizza with, like, ten different cheeses?”

“Sure.”

“And pepperonis.”

“Sure.”

“And bacon.”

“Bacon,” Locus repeated. “On a pizza.”

Felix nodded. “Maybe we can get an entire pizza that’s just bacon.”

“Why not just buy bacon?”

“We can do that too.” He reached for a second slice of venison and kept talking while he ate it. Listed all the foods he missed, all the sugar and the junk food, and salads that came with more than whatever edible greens they could find. The Greek place uptown, that one Chinese buffet an hour away, the Italian five-star restaurant that was owned and worked by actual Italians - and it didn’t matter that he had been barred from entering that particular restaurant. Because after this, Felix said, he could buy his way back into anywhere. He sat and ate, munching on venison, watching Locus stir up whatever soup of the day he had thrown together.

“I don’t know how people live their whole lives out here,” Felix said quietly.

“That’s because you are materialistic,” Locus said. “You value what you can buy. The people that live here have their reasons.”

Felix made a face, one that Locus couldn’t see, and started on his third piece of venison. The American dead zones may have been officially written off as having zero inhabitants, but people were always stubborn. Someone always chose to stay behind, and there was quite the underground network of illegal refugee camps throughout the abandoned states. It was what Felix and Locus had been hired to eliminate, but that certainly hadn’t stopped either of them from bartering and trading at a few of the camps. There was a box of instant coffee in the van right now that Felix had traded three pounds of deer meat for, a deal that Locus had said was ridiculous and a waste of their food.

But it was coffee and it was a rarity out here. Felix would have traded an entire eighty-pound buck for the stuff.

He wished he had some now, actually, rather than just a lukewarm bottle of water that was thrown his way. Locus rose and handed him a bowl of murky brown soup, something Felix assured himself probably tasted better than it looked, and told him to stop eating all the meat. Once he turned around, Felix grabbed a few more pieces and threw them into the soup. Tex joined them after a few minutes, dishing out her own food and berating Felix for having taken so much of the deer.

It was after they had all eaten, after Locus had put out the fire, that Felix spoke again. “You gonna unlock the van for me now or what?”

Locus didn’t say anything.

So, Felix continued. “Tex said she needs my help, did I tell you that? Except she only wants me if I’ve got the gear, and clearly I don’t have the gear. So unlock the van, let’s go.” He shoved off the counter, bouncing on his feet.

“I’d like to borrow a weapon or two,” Tex said. “I’m sure you guys can spare it.”

“No.”

Both of them looked at Locus. He started toward the door, not looking at either of them.

“Uhm, Locus?” Felix started after him, catching the door before it can slam in his face. “No what?”

“She can’t have our weapons,” Locus answered.

Tex was pushing past Felix before he even had time to react. “Why the fuck not?” she snapped. “You two have at least ten different guns in there. I’m only asking for two - and only for a short while.”

Locus didn’t answer. He walked through the lobby, pushed open the hotel’s front door, and drew the van’s keys out of his pocket. At the back of the van, he stopped. “I told Felix,” he said. “The van was stolen.”

Felix stopped a few feet behind Locus, hands in the pockets of his borrowed pants, frowning. “Yeah, see, I still don’t believe that. The keys weren’t even in the damn thing.”

In answer, Locus reached forward to unlock the van. He pulled the doors open one at a time then stepped to the side, silent.

The van - Felix’s van - his precious van with his precious resources and supplies - and it looked practically empty. It had been designed for optimal storage with the limited space they had, starting with the removal of every seat except the front two. The carpet was gone, replaced with hard sheets of metal, the sides reinforced. The side windows had been removed and in their place stood three padlocked steel storage units that had been welded to the wall. Medkits and ammunition stood in them still, visible through the hard glass fronts on each case. Below those, containers holding food and water, their clothes, the protective gear, even their blankets. All of those were closed, impossible to see into.

But the opposite side, the left side of the van, was what drew Felix’s attention. The wall of the van had been covered in gun racks that were drilled into place. Supposed to hold their entire collection of guns - sniper rifles, shotguns, assault rifle, pistols - and half of those weapons were missing. Not counting the gun on Locus’s hip, there were five missing slots.

More distressing than that was the fact that Felix’s bike was missing.

Beneath the gun racks there was a small raised platform, one that was supposed to have his bike resting on it. The locking mechanisms had been forced open, he could tell that from where he stood. Felix stared at the empty section of the van. It wasn’t a big slot, the van was too big for his bike to take up that much room. Beside him, Tex was cursing at the loss of the guns, asking Locus what the fuck happened.

“Whoever took the van,” Locus was saying. “they took our weapons. Two rifles, one shotgun, two pistols. They didn’t get any of the ammunition, but - “

“My bike is gone,” Felix interrupted. “Why did you let them take my bike?” He turned on Locus, threw an erratic punch that Locus caught, and scowled. “Couldn’t have led with that? ‘Hey, Felix, good to see you’re not dead. Someone took your fucking bike!’ _Why?_ ”

Tex ignored both of them, heaving herself into the van to examine the missing weapon slots. She stood on the platform meant for the bike, standing between the locks that were meant to clamp down on the wheels. Felix glared at her, snatching his hand out of Locus’s fists. “I’m not helping you!” he said. His anger almost made it a yell - almost, but not quite. He hadn’t lost control, even if he was pissed off that she had the gall to stand there. “No bike, no fucking deal. Help yourself. Go hire another freak who lives out here, I am done.”

Tex frowned at him. “Is he gonna be okay?” she asked Locus.

Locus sighed. “This is why I did not lead with the missing bike,” he said quietly.

“That bike cost me thirty thousand dollars!” Felix punched Locus in his chest, hit the plating there, and pain tingled up his knuckles. “I want it back.”

“Thirty  _thousand_ dollars?” Tex repeated. She was still talking to Locus, ignoring Felix. “Is he serious?”

Locus grabbed both of Felix’s wrists and forced them to his sides. “It was a custom made bike,” he said. “He spent a lot of money on upgrades.” He paused to twist Felix’s arm backwards, using the momentum to turn Felix completely around. He pressed Felix’s arm into his back, holding it there. “And Felix is a materialistic idiot.”

“I hate you,” Felix spat. “I hate Texas, I hate whoever took my fucking bike. And I’d really appreciate it if you would let go of my arm now.”

Locus ignored him.

Texas ignored him.

They had a brief conversation and at the end of it, Tex finally looked back at him. It was only a brief glance and she looked back at Locus before she spoke. “I think I’ll explore the other buildings around here,” she said. “See if they left anything else before they disappeared.” She hopped out of the van, walking over to her bike. She swung her helmet on while she walked, and then she was gone, speeding off to the buildings further down the street.

Locus released him after she was gone, and Felix clambered up into the van instantly. He stared at the gun racks, at the locks for his bike, and sighed. “This is fucked up,” he said finally. “Why did they take the bike?”

“It must be easier to get away with a bike than with a van,” Locus said. He had climbed in after Felix and he laid a hand on Felix’s shoulder, running it down his back. “Where did you get these clothes?”

Felix leaned into the touch, sighing. “Tex gave them to me.” He felt Locus’s hand slip underneath the jacket, the shirt, and then rest against his skin. At some point between letting go of Felix earlier and climbing into the van, Locus had removed his gloves. His hand was warm, calloused, pressing against Felix’s back. “Speaking of Tex… What the hell did she mean about people disappearing?”

Locus was closer, close enough that his breath ghosted over Felix’s neck. “There were people living here,” he said quietly. “She knew them. They left a little over a year ago.”

Before they would have even signed the contract. Somehow, for whatever reason, that made him feel a little better. Whoever lived here last, he and Locus hadn’t caused their death or gotten them abducted by mysterious black-clad bastards.

“Think those people are who she’s looking for?” he asked. Locus’s hand was sliding up on his back, leaving a warm trail after it. Felix was hardly paying attention to what he was saying now. “I mean, the whole time we’ve known her, she’s just been chasing someone, right? So - ”

“Felix.”

Felix turned his head a fraction, locking eyes with Locus.

“Stop talking.”

He was going to say something else - really, that was just begging for him to keep talking - but Locus’s mouth on his swallowed the half-formed words as they came. There was a beat before Felix turned his entire body to press against Locus, eyes closing as he slid an arm around Locus’s shoulders. It was all hunger and urgency, born from irritation and anger, very much like the kiss Locus had greeted him with earlier. Except now Felix was gladly putting all of his frustration into it, kissing Locus back with as much force as he could  at the same time the hand on his back was forcing him closer.

Locus slid his other hand down Felix’s chest, unzipping the jacket, and then he was pulling it off of Felix’s shoulders. The jacket hit the floor of the van, and Locus was biting along his neck. One hand gripped Felix’s hair, pulling his head back and giving more skin up for Locus to bite - and after each one, he planted a kiss, lips warm against Felix’s skin.

Felix let him. His hands were fumbling with the straps and latches on the kevlar jacket Locus wore, tearing at it and forcing it open. He felt Locus’s hands settle on his belt, pulling at it - and then Felix jolted. He shoved Locus, hands on his shoulders. “Wait, wait - wait,” he said, breathless. “Stop - just… hang on.” He stared at Locus, who stared back at him, two of his fingers still hooked into Felix’s belt. Slowly, a grin spread over his face. “People lived here, right?”

“...Yes.”

“So… you could fuck me in a real bed.”

Locus was looking at him like he could hardly believe this was worth stopping for. But it was a big fucking deal. Ever since they started this job, almost every time they fucked, it had been in the back on their van, in broken down buildings. They had thick blankets in the van, which did little to soften the metal floor when Felix was being fucked down into it. Aside from a three day stay at a refugee camp over five months ago, neither of them had even seen an actual made bed.

Felix repeated himself: “Fuck me in a bed.”

And then Locus pulled him from the van, taking his fingers from Felix’s belt to slam the doors closed. He grasped Felix by the arm, pushed him back through the hotel doors, and led him down the hall - past a door marked for maintenance, past another that was shut, and through a half open door. The room was small, lit only by the sunlight drifting in through an unboarded window. There was a lamp on the bedside table, but it wasn’t on and likely wasn’t even plugged in.

Locus pushed him against the end of the bed, pulling the shirt off of him before leaning in to kiss him again, even rougher than before. They separated and Felix set to unlacing his boots as fast as possible, kicking them off as Locus shoved him down onto the blankets. Locus raked his nails down Felix’s sides, stopping to shrug off the jacket Felix had undone, to pull off the shirt he wore under it, take off his own boots, pull the belt out of his pants.

While he was undressing, Felix glanced at the blankets on the bed. “Are these… these are ours, aren’t they? From the van?”

“Where do you think I slept last night?” Locus said. He forced Felix to lay flat against the bed, pushing a hand into his chest and lifting himself onto the bed. “Now stop talking.”

Felix grinned at him, slipping his fingers past Locus’s beltline. “Take your pants off and maybe I will.”

In answer, Locus yanked off the rest of Felix’s clothes, taking ahold of his dick and stroking. Hard, fast, and violent. A shuddering gasp rose out of Felix as he stroked. Locus watched him, watching as he clenched handfuls of the blankets. Felix let his eyes close, feeling Locus’s free hand track scratches down one of his thighs. Soon Locus let go of his dick, forced him to spread his legs wider, and yanked him forward until Felix’s legs pressed against Locus’s thighs. He opened his eyes then, at the friction across his back and the rough feeling of Locus’s pants rubbing against his skin. He frowned. “Dude. Take your goddamn pants off.”

Locus only leaned down, licking up Felix’s neck before biting down. He put his hands on Felix’s shoulders, pushing him down, and Felix squirmed in response, bucking against Locus’s hips and cursing. Locus laughed quietly before letting go and easing back off the bed. There was a sudden lack of heat, cool air rushing in to replace where Locus had been pressing in from all sides, and Felix groaned. He wrenched his eyes closed, taking fistfuls of blankets and smoothing them out, waiting and refusing to watch Locus finish undressing.

He didn’t want the teasing and all the bullshit that came with it, all of Locus’s typical slow stroking and scratching that only served to wind Felix up. All he wanted was the sex and the aching afterglow that came with it. He was kind of banking on the dim hope that Locus could fuck four days worth of anger out of him.

Then Locus was back, hovering over him, the bed creaking as he pulled Felix to lay at his hips. Felix almost smiled at the skin-to-skin contact, but bit it back. He ran his hands up Locus’s arms instead, holding tight to his shoulders as Locus slammed into him. Each thrust was powerful, rough, and Felix welcomed it and the heat that came from wrapping his arms around Locus’s shoulders.

Locus kept one hand on Felix’s hip for a while, squeezing, digging his nails in. Then he was scratching down Felix’s back, rolling his hips and slowly forcing him to lay flat against the bed again. He brought his hands back to Felix’s waist, holding him down and increasing his pace, his force. Felix’s arms were still around Locus’s neck, and he used them to pull Locus down to kiss him as he locked his legs tightly around Locus’s hips.

The harder Locus pounded into him, the louder Felix was - gasps and breathless moans, groaning, strangled curses. For the first time in a long while, he felt safe enough to not even try to stay quiet. His nails were digging into Locus’s skin where he held onto him, Locus was back to biting the skin at the base of his neck, and when Locus’s hands moved from Felix’s hips, he started to meet each thrust as it came. Felix squeezed his legs around Locus even tighter, pulling him closer and forcing him to go deeper. He came with a loud noise somewhere between a shout and a curse, one that Locus swallowed up with a violent kiss. Felix let him; he relaxed his hold on Locus, his hands drifting down the other man’s arms. And when his legs started to fall from Locus’s waist, a hand clamped down tightly to keep them raised.

Felix let Locus keep his rough pace until he finished, all the tension and anger seeping out of him slowly. _My legs are aching_ , was the first coherent thought he had after Locus pulled out of him. His legs ached, he was sweaty, and Locus had tossed the used condom into a corner. Felix said quietly, “Gross,” and received a tired glare from Locus in return. “Just gonna let that sit over there, huh?”

Locus dropped onto the bed beside him.

“That’s disgusting, man, seriously.”

He heard Locus sigh heavily, an irritated sigh, and a lazy grin spread over his face. He stayed there for a minute, then rolled off to find something to clean himself off with. Hopefully not the clothes he had been wearing and definitely not the blankets. In the end, he pushed open a door in one corner of the room that he hadn’t noticed and leaned into a bathroom. The light from the window hardly reached inside but there was a rag in there, something from their van, most likely. Good enough. He was tempted to see if the shower worked, if there was hot water, but seriously, his legs ached.

When he went back to the bed, Locus was either asleep or feigning it really well. Felix climbed in next to him, lying close enough to feel the heat drifting off the other man, and closed his eyes. A short nap couldn’t hurt.

***

The motorcycle was running low on gas, which wasn’t a huge problem except for the fact that  he had no idea where another gas station was. Or even if it would have pumps he could get to work. Or if it did, would it even have gas? He could always find another camp or group and barter for goods, but he kind of didn’t have anything else to trade. So many things that could go wrong, and in the end, he gave up. He hopped off the bike, and started to wheel it along. It was a lot quieter without the noise from the bike’s engine - which he thought kind of sounded like an angry big cat when he really got it going, like it was going to morph into one of those mountain lions and he was going to ride into battle on the back of it.

But that was ridiculous.

Taking the bike had seemed like a good idea at first. It was lightweight, and it seemed much easier to take off with than the van had been. He had been right about that - the motorcycle was fast, and somehow it even worked well off-road. It had been almost full of gas too, and got a lot of mileage on top of that, so he had only had to stop once in days. Only had to have one fight with an old man at a camp to receive more gas. Plus it was a nice bike, painted a shiny black with orange  stripes along the bottom. Even the rims of the wheels were orange. Personally he wouldn’t have chosen orange but, hey, he wasn’t gonna be picky.

And now, well… Okay, he probably had to admit that he was lost now because it was four days later and Palomo still hadn’t found his way back to camp. He’d thought the others were north but here he was, standing north and facing north and, yeah, he had no idea where he was. All the trees looked the same. It was a bigger problem than just being lost, because he couldn’t see another building to sleep in for the night and the sun was slowly descending in the sky.

“...I’m gonna die with a stolen bike,” he said to himself.

Well… A stolen bike and five guns. The guns were the best part of what he had done, five of them pulled off the wall of the van and stuffed into a duffle bag. It was slung over his shoulders, another prize from a stranger’s van. It was enough guns for everyone else to have one and for him to have two for daring to take them. A fair trade.

He had been pushing the bike down the road for almost half an hour when he heard an engine roaring behind him. His first thought was that the van owners had found him but when he turned back, what he saw was a jeep speeding toward him. Palomo grinned and let go of the bike - it started to fall, naturally, and he scrambled to push it back up. The jeep stopped beside him just as he righted it and the driver’s window rolled down slowly.

Jensen was driving. She looked at him, looked at the bike, and frowned. “What is that…? Did you steal that?”

“Uh, yes,” he said. “Yes I did! But it’s okay - because nobody was using it!”

“How do you know that?”

“ ‘Cause the van was just sitting there - ”

“There’s a van now?!”

“No, uh… No, I left the van.”

Jensen stared at him blankly. Well, no, not blankly. She looked like she would have hit him, if she wasn’t sitting at the wheel and if Palomo wasn’t holding up a very nice motorcycle. She sighed, then let go of the jeep’s wheel and twist around in her seat. “Guys!” she said loudly. “Guys, get up! I found Palomo.”

Palomo took the time now to pull the kickstand down. Left the bike standing there so he could turn to the jeep without worrying about it.

One of the jeep’s back doors swung open and Bitters leaned out, squinting. “Palomo, what the hell.”

“What?”

“Where the fuck did you get that?”

“Stole it,” Jensen said.

Bitters groaned. “You stole a bike.”

“Apparently a van was involved,” Jensen said.

Palomo frowned. These guys were supposed to be his friends, he would have thought they’d appreciate Palomo risking his life for a sweet bike. “I left the van,” he repeated. “Thought that, y’know, the bike moves faster - plus look at the paint job. This is a really good thing, guys, trust me!”

Jensen nodded. She was staring ahead instead of looking at Palomo.

No one said anything. It was starting to get a little awkward, really, and with only thing left to do, Palomo pulled the duffel off his back and dropped it on the road. Jensen glanced down at the noise, looked back at the road, and then refocused on the bag. Bitters took one look at it and slammed his door closed. And from the other side of the car, Smith pushed open his door and walked all the way around the jeep to lean down and unzip it.

“What is this?” Palomo asked warily. “You guys aren’t gonna yell at me, are you? I risked my life, y’know!”

“No one told you to go out alone,” Bitters muttered. “Supposed to go in pairs.”

Smith pulled a shotgun from the duffel bag, staring at it with a furrowed brow. “Whose weapons are these…?”

“Ours,” Palomo said instantly. “Well, I mean, now they’re ours.” He forced himself to grin again - face the day like a champ. Even if the day was almost over. “It’s okay, really. That van had like a dozen guns, no one’s going to miss five.’

Jensen, as it turned out, actually agreed with him. He thought so, anyway. She said that they needed new weapons, no matter how the guns were acquired. Smith shrugged, picked up the bag, and went to put them all in the back of the jeep. It seemed like a good time to mention the need for gasoline. “We, uh, do still have some gas cans, right?” he asked. And then Bitters exited the jeep, grumbling, a gas can in hand. Palomo told the whole story while Bitters filled up the motorcycle - about how he had found this van just sitting out by the road. It didn’t have the keys in it, he said, but there was an extra key just sitting in the glove box (yes, he had gone through the glove box). So... he took it. He took the van and he drove for about an hour, and then he had stopped at this old gas station.

The van had looked as if it had belonged to some dangerous people, Palomo told them. He didn’t want to piss off the guys that drove that van - Smith interrupted here to ask why he took the bike if that was the case. Palomo frowned at him. “Because shut up, Smith. The bike wasn’t being used, okay? It was locked down.” He continued then, telling how he had found a duffel bag and took some of the guns off the racks. He had wanted to get some ammo too, but that was locked down tighter than the bike.

He said he had pulled a ramp out of the back, a ramp that had apparently been installed just for the sole purpose of pulling the bike in there. And then Palomo had taken the guns, and the bike, and he had gotten the hell of out there.

For spice, he threw in a close run-in with some zombies. Sure, there had zombies there, but they weren’t that interested in Palomo speeding by. Wouldn’t have been able to catch him anyway.

As soon as he stopped  talking, Bitters asked, “Did you even read this license plate?” When Palomo looked at him and shook his head, Bitters sighed. He stood, tossing the empty gas can at Palomo. “The license plate on this thing is a name. Says ‘Felix’. You stole a bike from a guy who put his name on it.”

Palomo blinked at him.

“Something about that,” Smith said quietly. “does not sound good.”

“Oh, it’s just a name!” Palomo said.

“The name of a guy whose bike you stole,” Bitters added. He swung onto the bike, and added, “I’m taking this, by the way. Before you kill yourself on it.”

That was unfair. He had driven it for nearly four days, he could totally survive on it. “Aw, c’mon, man…”

Bitters ignored him. Jensen tossed him a helmet from the back of the jeep and then Palomo had no choice but to take a seat in the jeep. Smith had moved up front to sit by Jensen, and he glared pathetically at both of them through the rearview mirror. That bike was good - it was like his prize, but now Bitters was revving its engine and he was stuck in the smelly old jeep.

Just like the countless weeks before he had found that van.

Palomo sighed, pulling his feet into the seat as Jensen started the van. Here we go, he thought. Off to find another place to camp for a week or two before moving on again.


	3. we set fire in the snow

Tex hadn’t come back by the end of the day.

It wasn’t one of his main concerns, but when Felix woke up three hours later alone in a dark room, he had expected to find Texas and Locus somewhere together. He pulled on the too-short pants he had been wearing and his boots before leaving the room - didn’t want to be naked if she was hanging around. He found Locus in the lobby, underneath the dim light, cleaning guns. Felix did a count of them all, and thought for a second that some of them were missing until he remembered the theft. Right. Locus had all of their remaining guns in here then.

Felix pulled a chair up beside him. He wasn’t planning to help or anything, he just wanted to be near someone instead of alone in a dark room. After a minute of silence, he said, “Tex not back?”

“No.” Locus’s answer was instant - but he didn’t look up from the gun he was cleaning.

More silence. Felix hummed and leaned back in his chair, throwing his feet on top of the table. A couple of the guns skittered across the surface when he did and Locus threw him a brief glare. He listened to Locus snapping pieces of the gun back together and sighed. The smell of gun oil didn’t quite mask the heavy scent of dust, but it did cut through everything else. It was comforting, in a sense, because the entire van would smell like the stuff at least two days out of the week.

“So, what are we gonna do?” Felix asked.

It turned out that Locus wasn’t planning on leaving just yet. He sent Felix out to the van to bring in water and food - both rationed meals and salted jerky - and put it in all in the kitchen. There was quite a bit more deer than usual in the van, the rest of the one they had ate earlier that day, and Felix was slightly impressed at how fast Locus had made it into jerky. Only slightly, though, because he would have preferred more fresh meat. Salted jerky might last longer, but it was dry and he was tired of eating it. He pulled a bag of the food out of the container and frowned at it, remembering the juices that had exploded out of the freshly cooked meat earlier.

Jerky was disappointing.

Just like life out here.

Felix dropped the food and the water in the small room before the kitchens, wandered back out to the van, and emptied it of all their blankets. The bed he had been fucked on earlier was great, really, but he and Locus shared very different ideas of just how many blankets were needed to make an old mattress comfortable again. In Felix’s opinion, the amount they had wasn’t nearly enough. It would never be enough. And he told Locus just that when he passed through the lobby.

Locus followed him down the hall to the room, leaning against the doorframe and watching. Felix threw every blanket on the bed and then turned to plug the old lamp into the wall. Turned out the damn thing did work - the whole room must have been hooked to one of the generators. “Why don’t you do something useful?” Felix said to Locus. “Like make me dinner. And wash your hands first - you dirty, dirty man.”

In answer, Locus strode over to him and laid his hand on Felix’s back. “You say that as if you’re being useful,” he said quietly.

Felix sighed loudly. “Did you really just put your oily fucking hand on me?” He shoved Locus away as the other man laughed. “That’s just… that’s just fuckin’ rude.”

“The shower works, Felix,” Locus said.

On any other day, Felix might have questioned why Locus had to leave a handprint of gun oil on his back just to tell him a shower worked. However, the idea of a hot shower two nights in a row was just too good to ignore, so Felix retreated into the bathroom. Locus had said to stay in for no longer than fifteen minutes, but Felix was going to ignore that in favor of actual hot water. He set it as hot as he could stand it and didn’t do much beyond standing under it. After trying his damnedest to make sure the oil was off his skin, at least.

He had been standing there for almost twenty-five minutes when Locus ripped the shabby shower curtain back. Felix glanced at him, then turned his face into the water. “Bit busy,” he said. “Also very nude. Come back later.”

Locus turned the water off and pulled him out then - with clean hands, Felix noted - and shoved a towel in his hands. Something else from the van. “Get dressed,” he said. “Dinner’s ready.”

Felix wanted to tell him that he hadn’t bothered to bring any clean clothes. And while he didn’t mind sitting around naked, this hotel was dirty and kind of gross and it wasn’t going to happen. Before he even opened his mouth, Locus stepped aside and shoved Felix toward the bathroom door. Just outside stood one of the chairs from the lobby, stacked not only with some of Felix’s casual clothes, but the protective suit as well. A chair beside it held the same for Locus.

All right. So the asshole knew how to prepare for the things Felix forgot.

He didn’t put on anything except the pants Locus had brought, not even the fresh underwear. He slipped his boots on and followed Locus back to the lobby trying not to step on the untied laces. Dinner turned out to be freshly hydrated dried rations, jerky made from either rabbit or deer, and the last four pieces of actual cooked venison that hadn’t been devoured for lunch. The only thing good about it was that Locus had broken out one of their bottles of whiskey.

The rest of the night was boring. No zombies, no van to drive, nothing to hide from and nothing to kill. Felix occupied his time by taking Locus’s phone when the other man wasn’t looking and taking pictures of himself. He probably should not have amused himself with it for over an hour, but, hey, nothing else to do. And Locus could always use more pictures of him.

Felix fell asleep that night on top of six blankets and underneath two of them. It really was beginning to get colder and he found himself trying to remember what month it was while listening to Locus breathing beside him.

There were zombies in his dreams again, chewing on Locus, but this time they were frozen, coated in ice, and Felix’s knife didn’t go through their skulls.

The next morning, Felix awoke to the sound of gunfire and bolted to the doorway of the room. Locus was standing in the hall, firing on zombies that had apparently come out of nowhere. “It was the generators,” Locus said after all of the zombies were dead. “There was nothing else making noise.”

“Where did they come from?”

For that, Locus didn’t have an answer. The best they could come up with was that somewhere in the hotel, there must have been a few that had wandered in.

They spent the rest of the morning walking the entire length of the hotel in full gear - minus the helmets, but that would be fine as long as they didn’t encounter an entire hoard. They searched everywhere, killing any zombies they found. Felix actually found a girl, a live girl, fast asleep in one of the rooms at the opposite end of the hotel from where he and Locus were staying. She didn’t look older than fifteen, and didn’t even wake up when Felix threw the door open. He put a bullet in her skull with a sigh and didn’t mention it to Locus.

After another meal of dried rations and jerky, Felix insisted on finding more fresh meat, so Locus led him into the woods to hunt. They ended up catching four rabbits and Felix even caught a bird, throwing a knife through one of its wings. Of course, Locus denied that he had knocked it out of the air, but Felix knew what he was capable of. And it absolutely included hitting birds with throwing knives.

“You forget how good I am,” Felix said as he picked up the bird and twisted its neck.

“You forget that you’re not that good,” Locus told him. “There is such a thing as overestimating your own abilities.”

“Please, Locus, we both know I can do fucking anything.”

Locus swung a fist into his gut then, something that he felt even with the armor plating there. It was like just _saying_ he was good at things pissed Locus off - really, sometimes the man could be so childish. They fought right there in the middle of the woods, weapons and the day’s catches discarded for the moment. It ended with Locus slamming Felix into a tree and kissing him long enough that Felix’s taunts turned into muffled moans.

He was laughing when Locus pulled away from him. “Y’know,” he whispered. “With all these kisses, I’m almost tempted to say you missed me.” The laughter was cut off by Locus’s fist burying in his gut again. Felix took that as a yes and goaded Locus the entire way back to the hotel. He figured that, eventually, Locus was going to have to kiss him to shut him up; it’s what he usually did, at least.

At the lobby, Locus finally dropped the rabbits and the bird to the floor, pushed Felix against the counter, and kissed him again. Bit his lip this time too. He stopped when Felix started to pull at his jacket, ordered him to shut up and help skin the animals.

Twenty minutes later, Felix was leaning against the counter, knife in one hand, a rabbit in the other. “This is not why I carry knives,” he said making a face and peeling the skin and fur back.

Locus actually growled then. Felix had successfully pissed him off.

Dinner was probably supposed to be rabbit stew, but Felix talked Locus into just cutting off slices of meat for him to eat. Anything but jerky, anything but more soups and stews. Sadly, there was still stew because Locus insisted he eat something else besides chunks of rabbit meat. The bird went into the stew instead, and no matter how many times Felix complimented Locus on how good he was at cooking and insisted the meat was enough, a bowl of stew was shoved in his hands.

That night, Locus fucked him again, slower than the last time. There was less desperation and frustration between the two of them to warrant anything violent or too rough. Locus still left scratches on his back and Felix took the opportunity for another shower, standing under the water for longer than he should have.

God, did he miss the convenience of working showers and lots of hot water.

Before he fell asleep that night, Felix rolled within an inch of Locus, soaking up his body heat.

They spent the next few days roughly the same way. Exploring the buildings around them, finding little of use, and killing zombies they found. Felix took a high number of photos on Locus’s phone - mostly of himself - and Locus deleted a high number of them as soon as he had his phone back. They ate the rest of the rabbits, downed enough of their water to warrant refilling the bottles and stocking them inside the van again, and Felix felt the temperature drop with every day.

He asked Locus one time if it was almost winter and Locus had shook his head. It was autumn,  he said. Then he told Felix to wear a jacket if he was cold and to stop whining.

Tex arrived on the sixth day.

The night before, Felix had drank himself into a stupor and when he heard the noise of an engine growing louder, all it did was drive a nail into his head to join a blossoming headache. Felix rarely drank enough to actually get drunk anymore, hadn’t been drunk since they had entered the hot zones all those months ago. He couldn’t remember what had made him want to drink last night - hell, he could hardly remember last night at all.

What he did know was that he didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to open his eyes and deal with daylight. Besides, he was really, really warm. He felt the weight of blankets bunched up to his shoulders and how they effectively trapped all the heat around him.

Seriously, it was as if the growing cold wasn’t even a problem anymore. As long as he stayed where he was, Felix was warm.

He shifted under the blankets, leaning more of his weight into the surrounding warmth and sighing. Lying there, Felix thought he could hear a heartbeat. It felt like an arm was wrapped around his waist, a hand lying at his hip. The urge to open his eyes just for a second sparked, just long enough to see where exactly he was sleeping, and he fought it back with a grunt. It was too warm and he just wanted to go back to sleep.

Felix ran one hand slowly up Locus’s chest, sighing, pulling himself into a more comfortable position. Their legs were entangled and Felix gave up fighting against that. He felt Locus’s fingers trailing over the tattoos that ran down his arm as he drifted back to sleep.

And then he heard Tex’s voice, snapping him awake again: “Aww… How sweet.” She sounded amused, and Felix groaned, pressing against Locus like he could make her disappear with willpower alone. When he finally cracked his eyes open and raised his head, he saw her lowering her phone with a grin on her face.

Oh, fuck no. Felix pushed himself up on his elbows, glaring at Tex. Locus’s hands fell from his body as he moved. He glanced down in time to see Locus’s eyes look from him to Tex. Locus said, calmly, “Texas. It’s been a few days.”

Felix shot off Locus, pushing himself backward like he been struck by lightning. Consequently, he toppled off the end of the bed and slammed into the floor. The doorway was less than a foot from his head and Tex smirked down at him. “What was it you said?” she asked. She crouched down beside him, showing him the photo on her phone. The one of Felix quite clearly wrapped around Locus and fast asleep. “Not your boyfriend?”

Felix opened his mouth and unleashed a string of curses while she laughed. His head was hurting, and he was pretty sure that Tex’s smug bullshit was the worst wake-up he could have gotten. Felix sat up, grumbling, blankets tangled around his feet. He was suddenly very cold.

Locus glanced his way as he stood. “Get off the floor, Felix,” he said.

Felix glared at him, tracking him as he walked across the room until the bathroom door swung closed. There was a few seconds of silence before Tex nudged him in the side with one boot. He moved his glare to her instantly. “What? What do you want?”

She sat down on the edge of the bed, sliding the phone back in her pocket. Told him she was going to wait for Locus to come back, speak to them both at the same time, because apparently in the time she had been gone, she had found what she was looking for. They sat in silence then; the sounds of running water from the bathroom and birds singing outside didn’t quite make enough noise to fill the void. Tex drummed her fingers on her legs, staring at him.

Felix ignored her.

“Are you gonna just sit there?” she asked finally. “On the floor?”

“Thinking, Tex. Kindly shut the fuck up for a second.”

She fixed him with a look that would have scared groups of small children, but didn’t say anything else. Which was fantastic, since Felix was trying to push past his headache and the veil of drunken fog to figure out how the hell he had woken up clinging to Locus. As far as he could guess, drunk Felix had some serious issues. He remembered the drinking - lots of it - and then stumbling into the room where Locus was asleep.

And then he had crawled onto the bed, settled onto Locus’s lap …and then he had fallen asleep.

Felix frowned. “Drunk me is a goddamn idiot,” he muttered.

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Tex said. She nudged him with her boot again. “I’m glad you’re figuring yourself out. Can you get dressed now?”

He moved slowly, pausing before slipping out of the pants he wore and into the kevlar armored pair instead. Tex watched him the whole time, and it was more than a little unnerving. She didn’t look the slightest bit interested, but he was getting the feeling that if he wasn’t dressed in the next five minutes, he was going to find himself in a chokehold that actually had the potential to break his neck in half.

He was dressed by the time Locus left the bathroom, leaning against the wall opposite the bed and glaring at Texas.

Texas smiled, but it felt more like a death threat.

“I think I’m gonna die,” Felix hissed when Locus came closer. “Look at her face, man, I’m gonna die here.”

Locus looked between both of them, and then placed a hand on Felix’s shoulder. He leaned close, whispering, “Calm down. It isn’t the first time this happened.”

Felix refused to believe that. Even implying he willingly crawled into Locus’s arms on a regular basis was an insult.

“Getting mad at Texas will end with you dead.”

“I hate both of you,” Felix muttered. He looked over at Locus, glancing at the kevlar suit he was wearing. “Why are we dressed in these suits?”

Tex stood from the bed then, hands on her hips. She still looked like she wanted to slam Felix’s head through a wall. “You two are going to help me. You were supposed to be ready when I got here.” She glared at Locus like he had offended her. He shrugged one shoulder and offered nothing else. “I wasted time on you idiots. It was funny watching Felix have a minor breakdown, but I need this to happen as quickly as possible.”

“Didn’t have a breakdown,” Felix said quietly.

“We haven’t agreed to do anything,” Locus told Texas. “When you called, I said we’d hear what you had to say - not that we would help.”

Tex paused. “I can pay you,” she said flatly. “Not in money - not out here - but I’ve worked out a deal that will benefit you two. But only if you help me this one damn time.”

There was a beat of silence before Felix leaned forward. “What, uh… type of payment exactly?”

Twenty minutes later, the three of them stood at the lobby counter. Tex had pulled a map of Montana out of somewhere and spread it out on the counter while she talked. There was a refugee camp, a small one, near the Canadian border. She traced a line through the state with one finger, up along the mountains. This camp, she said, was what she had been searching for. It was well-hidden, tucked away in a valley and generally closed off from anyone else. She said the trees shielded it from anything that would fly above, the mountains made it hard for people to get there unless they were actually trying to, and also that the entire woods surrounding the camp were infested with zombies.

Tex said, “This is where I need to go.” She tapped the map, a small portion of the great boring state of Montana, and smiled grimly. “You two are going to help me get there.”

Neither Felix nor Locus spoke for a while. Sure, she had promised them payment. Part of that payment was sitting on the table in the middle of the lobby, a pack of guns that she had taken from a man she had met. The details were sketchy and Felix was considering the possibility that Texas had killed a man and taken his guns. It was to replace what had been stolen, she had said, and she had even gotten three for herself so she wouldn’t have to borrow theirs. When she had first mentioned it, the guns had sounded like a fine upfront payment to get the ball rolling, but now…

“Montana,” Felix said. He gazed down at Tex’s map, at the valley she was insisting they go to, and shook his head. “Montana is boring. There’s nothing there - which is amazing considering how there’s nothing anywhere in any of these states. Maybe an extra dose of zombie horses in Montana.”

Tex sighed. “You are not going to run into a zombie horse.”

“Yeah? And if I do? Are you going to tell my family I died by zombie horse bites?”

“Do you even talk to your family?” she said.

“They’ll want to know if I die!”

Locus shot him a glare and Felix stopped himself from insulting Tex further. Locus asked her, “If we help you, what would be the rest of our payment?”

Tex paused, looking down at the map, at the mountain ranges that spread across it. “I know these guys,” she said finally. “The ones at the camp. They trust me. It may take some convincing, but I can get them to give you whatever you want as long as you’re not taking everything from them.” For a split second, she looked tired. Horribly tired. But then she glanced back at the two of them and it was gone. Tex was back to appearing as if nothing ever phased her. “This is all I ask of you guys. You can go back to doing whatever the hell you’re here for, just help me get to them.”

They agreed in the end. Felix was positive that the promise of whatever they could want had sealed the deal. He would have rather stopped to eat breakfast before they left, but Locus just handed him a bag of jerky when he complained. He ate between loading things back in the van - the water, the food, the blankets, their clothes that had gotten scattered around the room. Tex tossed Locus the guns she had gotten, five of them; Locus loaded them into the gun racks before leaning down and forcing the wheel locks for Felix’s missing bike back down. They folded back to make a nice, smooth, empty platform - but it still caused irritation to boil in Felix’s stomach when he looked at it.

Texas had also brought a bag that she handed to Felix, saying it was the clothes he had left at her cabin. Another bag, one of her own clothes and extra equipment, was added to their van. Easier storage.

She pulled out of the hotel parking lot, leading them north at a speed that the van was never going to be able to match. They drove throughout the day, straight down the roads. They turned off whenever the highway became too clogged with potholes, speeding down the dirt roads instead, weaving a slow path northward. Mountains rose on either side of them as Tex sped into the valleys, down long curving roads. That first day, they stopped twice to eat and ended up arguing over trite things. Once Texas pulled Felix into a headlock and refused to let him go until he apologized for calling her a two-bit crazy bitch - and since he wouldn’t apologize, Locus had to intervene and force them apart.

After that, Locus referred to them as being like irritating siblings.

They made camp for the night by a stream, catching fish and trading bullshit stories while they ate. Texas told them how she had been living out here for four years now, how she hadn’t left other than one trip back to Portland about thirteen months ago. She had gotten her phone then, as well as resigning from her job.

Not surprisingly, Texas had been working with a specialized crew to clear out zombies from the hot zones. It was a secret operation, she said, one that had been in the works for years. They had been told they were taking back every hot zone they could their hands on. This company she worked for, the man in charge, he said they were going to be the force behind taking out the zombie scourge of America. “We were only ever allowed to call him the Director,” she said. “No one called him by his real name.”

The similarity between her Director and the Control that Felix and Locus answered to was not overlooked by either of them.

Texas said that whenever this ‘Director’ said to go, the squad listened. They could be out for months at a time, though those were the longer plans. The ones that needed them to clear out entire cities. Usually, it turned out that they only had to work maybe three days at a time. Then Texas and her squad had been sent to clear out a town that she knew held people, not zombies. It was a small community, only fifty or so people there, but the Director had told them it was filled with the undead.

She said they had been there two hours when a zombie hoard showed up. She said it seemed like the damned things had been herded that way, forcing her and her squad to attack. The people there got bit, had to be put down, and then Texas had watched as one man shot down a zombie after it had bitten deep into his shoulder.

“He never changed,” she said quietly. She was staring at them while she talked, not really seeing either of them. “I stayed there for two days, keeping the others off his back, making sure no one knew he had been bitten. All that happened was one guy there helped him - cleaned the wound, y’know, that sort of thing.

“I helped them relocate afterwards. Took one of the cars from the others - they wouldn’t miss it, we had a lot of extra equipment.”

There had four of them when Tex joined them, driving them across New Mexico and into Colorado. Four of them that she got to know, that she lived with for years. When Texas stopped talking, the fire crackling filled the silence. She ate the rest of her food without saying another word, got ready to sleep out beneath the stars.

Before he went to sleep in the back of the van, Felix asked her why she had told that story of all the things she possibly could have talked about. “The guy that never changed,” she said. “He’s who we’re going to find. He had to go into hiding and I didn’t know where he moved to.”

Felix sank to the ground beside her. “Uh huh… and why does this guy mean so much to you?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” she said with a shrug. “It’s complicated.”

She didn’t mention the man after that, nor anything else about her job, and Felix didn’t see any reason to ask. He contented himself with leaning out the window of the van as they started to move the following morning, taking more ridiculous pictures of himself with Locus’s phone. Mementos of their trip, he figured. When Locus snatched his phone back, Felix took out his own. He took photos of Tex straddling the bike with her helmet off; pictures of Locus glaring at him. Anything that looked interesting outside the van’s windows.

Halfway through their second day of driving, a trio of zombies stumbled out of the woods by the side of the road. Tex took out one as she sped by, barely looking at it as she shot. Felix grinned, leaning out the window with a rifle and mowing down the other two as they passed.

Those had been the first zombies they had seen since leaving the hotel, making the bulk of the trip so far weirdly quiet. He mentioned that same thing to Locus when they stopped to eat lunch and Locus said, “Be thankful we haven’t been overrun. And shut up about it.”

The rest of the day went by in a monotonous blur, much like how the neverending trees swam as they raced past. A few towns and buildings cropped up as they drove, small outcroppings that only served to host the dead. They were shuffling around every turn now, and Felix mentally withdrew his complaint about how little they had seen. Texas may have been leading them down back roads to weave through the mountains, but there were plenty of small towns and those small towns had plenty of walking dead.

Tex pulled off a small dirt road to find a place to sleep that night. It wasn’t exactly a clearing but since the trees weren’t that thick here, it didn’t seem to matter. Locus left the van on the road. They threw together a small fire and ate leftovers from lunch, and Felix told Tex about the time that he had killed a zombie bear in the Canadian wilderness.

She didn’t believe him, and Locus pointing out the errors in his story wasn’t helping.

That night, Felix fell asleep with his back pressed against Locus’s chest, both of them covered with blankets. Felix had insisted on sleeping close together - the nights were getting too cold for his liking. He dreamt of giant Siberian zombie bears migrating down from Canada to bite his head off. Even in his dreams, he thought it sounded strange.

Gunfire woke him up and for a split second, he thought the giant zombie bears had actually come to life. He sat up slowly, blankets falling down his shoulders to his waist. Locus was already dressed in his full kevlar suit, pushing the van doors open. “Get dressed,” he said lowly. “And quickly.”

Felix had only taken off the suit’s jacket, gloves, and his boots before falling asleep, so it wasn’t long before he pulled a couple of guns off the van’s wall and joined Locus outside it. He whistled. Daylight was just starting to blossom along the horizon but it was still so very dark. The threat was obvious despite the darkness.

It was zombies, of course, it was always zombies. The damn things were all over the woods, pushing toward the campsite where Tex had been sleeping. The gunshots going off in quick succession meant she was firing fast and hitting a lot of them. It didn’t take long before some of the dead turned toward him and Locus, hardly more than a few seconds; Felix raised his pistol and shot down two of them. Then Locus was shoving a helmet in his hands and he had to pause to slide it on and lock it into place.

Before he left the van, Felix swung his pack over his shoulders. Mostly for the extra ammunition inside it, but also for the comforting notion that he wasn’t going to be stranded without his gear again. The full protective suit gave him a few seconds to slam the van’s doors closed while ignoring a zombie’s grasping, straining hands at his shoulders. Locus shot that one before he even turned around. Together, they moved through the woods toward the sound of gunshots, mowing down zombies as they went. After a few feet, Felix spun the pistol in his hand and slid it back into its holster on his hip. He pulled the knife from its sheath instead, advancing on the dead and forcing the blade through their rotting skulls before they could react.

It didn’t take long to reach the remains of the campfire, and there they started to step over Tex’s kills. They passed her bike, parked beneath a tree and ignored by zombies. And then they found Tex, killing zombies with a pistol in one hand. When one got too close to her, or tried to bite her, she would slam an elbow into its face, sending it rocking backwards. She had killed a fair number of them, but there were too many for just her to take on by herself. If Felix was a pessimist, he might have said there were too many for the three of them together.

Locus exchanged his pistol for the shotgun on his back, advancing quickly. Each shot he made was practiced and smooth - zombie heads exploding as he moved to join Tex. It was obvious that he intended to extract her from the middle of it so they could all get the hell back from this mess. Felix should have followed him, but instead he pulled the pistol from his hip again, with the hand that wasn’t holding onto his knife. It had been a while since he’d had a good amount of zombies to take on in a fair fight - the last time he had been in a tree with barely any ammunition and no protection.

Now he could shoot however many he pleased. He could stab even more of them, feeling the thick blood pooling over his fingers each time he yanked the knife back out without worrying about it. He moved quickly, shooting the ones farther out, taunting the ones that got too close. He jumped out of range of one’s grasping fingers, laughing.

Then Locus said, over the noise they were making, “Stop showing off.”

Felix ignored him and hooked two fingers of his knife-wielding hand into the zombie’s rotting shirt. It ripped when he pulled but the damn thing still followed it. Felix shoved his knife up through its neck, hitting the spinal cord, and kicked it off the blade. He paused to look at his knife, at the bright orange strip that was swimming in dark red blood, and raised his other hand to shoot the closest zombie. He’d guessed with that shot but when he looked up, another one fell.

Sweet.

Locus was shouting at him again and Felix glanced over to see him and Texas, moving toward him. Felix sighed, stabbed one zombie through its forehead and yanked the blade back out. As soon as it was free, he readjusted his grip on it, and threw it. A zombie dropped at Locus’s feet and a grin spread over Felix’s face. He really was the best at this. “Get my knife,” he yelled before shooting three approaching zombies in quick succession. “It’s the orange one.”

The orange one. Like he didn’t own at least five, all painted with that obnoxiously loud stripe.

He didn’t watch Locus pick it up, instead reloading his pistol and scanning what was left. They had thinned the zombies out drastically, leaving about a dozen left shambling toward them. It looked like they could, actually, take down an entire horde with just the three of them.

He saw the blade of his knife zooming back through the air and froze. It breezed past his helmet by an inch and slammed into a zombie that was coming up from behind him. Felix turned to pull it out of the zombies skull and when he straightened up, the grin fell from his face at the same rate his elation plummeted.

“Oh, good,” he said quietly. “More.”

He was willing to bet ‘more’ was an understatement. Wherever these damn things had come from, there had been a lot. Everywhere he looked now, there was a zombie. Walking between the trees, reaching for the three of them. Their screams rose as the number of them increased and a pit of fear twisted Felix’s gut until his confidence vanished.

This was bad. Very… very bad.

He fired away anyway. Relying on his reflexes now, backing away when all of his instincts were shouting at him to run. When he backed into Locus, he very nearly jumped into the air until logic told him that a zombie would not allow him to lean against them. “So,” he said, forcing his voice casual. “This isn’t good.”

“No shit,” Tex muttered. She was firing with pinpoint accuracy, as usual. “We need to get out of here.”

Felix felt Locus’s hands dig through his pack. Must need ammunition, he told himself. Shotguns didn’t exactly care a large amount of bullets. “Don’t suppose either of you have a plan, do you?” he asked.

Tex was silent.

All Locus said was that they needed to get back to the van.

Felix cursed. He scanned the amount of zombies approaching them and thought that if they had unlimited ammo, this wouldn’t be a problem at all. None of them could be bitten as fully protected as they were - and when they did run out of ammo, he was certain that Texas at least could break the damned things into pieces. Locus might be able to as well, but most of Felix’s hand-to-hand skills were best when used against living people.

A few seconds later, Felix made up his mind. He slid the knife back into its sheath and said to Locus, “All right. I  have an idea. Give me your pistol.”

“Why? What are you doing?”

“Just give me the gun, Locus.”

Locus snarled, “Don’t get yourself killed.” He didn’t give up his gun so Felix reached behind him and pulled it off his hip anyway. “Felix!”

“Please stop firing,” Felix said. The casual, smug tone in his voice was forced as best as he could get it with his heart pounding against his ribs. What he was about to do was pretty much suicide. “Lower your weapons. And run - preferably to the van, but I guess I can’t control you.”

He took his advice before they did, launching himself forward at the approaching horde of zombies. He fired Locus’s gun as he ran, hitting more of them in the chest than in their heads. It had the effect he had hoped for though: pissed off zombies turning their attention to him. Behind him, he heard Locus curse again, heard Texas shout, “What the fuck is he doing?!” He really hoped they would listen to him and run in the opposite direction.

Zombie fingers raked over his suit as he barreled through them, hands clutching desperately at the pack on his back, forcing him to stop. He fired over his shoulder before he started moving again, ripping away from them. The bag didn’t open, they didn’t pull it from his shoulders, and he was thankful for that one little thing not going wrong. But, goddamn, there were a lot of them. He had regretted doing this as soon as he thought of it and that hadn’t changed one bit. Locus’s gun ran out of ammo and he shoved it into the holster on his hip, firing the other one. He dodged them, jumped from them, and ran until he reached the campsite again.

Still more zombies, turning their heads in his direction. Felix shot down two of them before he reached Tex’s bike. There was a rifle and a shotgun leaving against it and Felix shoved his pistol into the back of his pants to free his hands and pick them up. The rifle had a strap and he slung it over one shoulder; the shotgun he held in one hand.

He breathed just the slightest sigh of relief when he jumped onto the bike. Tex had left the keys in it and it roared to life instantly. He pulled away from the nearest zombies, speeding back through the forest. The engine seemed louder when he was driving rather than riding it, and controlling it was not as easy as Texas made it seem. Maybe it would have been easier if he had had the time to put the shotgun in his pack. Using two hands definitely would have worked better. Its wheels skidded in the dirt and sent fallen leaves flying with every turn. Felix nearly crashed into a tree, then drove so close to a pack of zombies that he felt their hands scrape his shoulders.

Adrenaline pushed him forward by now, competing with the fear over what kept him moving. When he skidded onto the road, Felix finally took the few seconds to swing his pack around and stuff the shotgun down into it. The barrel stuck out the top and his fingers were shaking when he snapped the whole thing shut again.

The zombies had followed him out of the forest and Felix cursed. His heart was still beating too hard, too fast, and he pushed on the gas. The bike screamed as its tires gripped the road, and then he was gone. He didn’t think to look back at his van - hell, he didn’t even think of the van. At the moment, he thought about getting the fuck away before he really did kill himself.

The sun had risen now, and when he reached a turn, Felix took the one that put the sun behind him so he wouldn’t have to deal with its rays stabbing his eyes. He drove until his breathing regulated, until his heartbeat slowed down, and even then he only stopped when he took a turn too sharply and the bike hit the road.

Felix slammed into the road, skidded with the bike a few feet until he wrenched his leg out from under it, and then he bounced and rolled. The gun in the back of his pants pressed on his tailbone when he came to a rest in the middle of a two-lane highway. He pushed himself up on shaking arms, hissing. Pain lanced up his arms, coiling around his elbows. The suit hadn’t ripped, but it hadn’t done much to absorb the shock impact either.

He sat on his knees for a few seconds before pushing to his feet and going to pull the bike back up. The side of it was scratched. He cursed again. “Tex is going to kill me,” he said to himself.

He stood there on the empty road, listening to the birds chirping as the day came to life around him.

Felix thought that it was far too quiet now. No zombies, no sounds of an engine, nothing but the birds singing. He was pretty sure that he had gotten himself lost. Again.


	4. here come the earth intruders

The first thing Felix did was pull the pack off his back and slowly go through its contents. First, there were five guns in total. Three pistols - one that had been in the pack, the one he had pulled from the back of his pants, and the one he had taken from Locus. The rifle and the shotgun he had taken with Tex’s bike. He had ammunition for all of them, along with sniper bullets which were ultimately useless. His set of knives was in there as well. Two large plastic water bottles, five dehydrated rationed meals, and a bag of deer jerky made up the only food and water he had. A pair of lighters and a pack of matches. And, of course, two tightly coiled ropes and one medkit.

Good. He could climb into a tree and hold off starvation with deer jerky.

Fantastic.

He didn’t move for a while, sitting and looking at his supplies - and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his left leg. The goddamn bike had landed on him when it fell, and he had been ignoring it ever since he had sat down in the middle of the road next to the bike. Who knew that a heavy motorcycle crushing his knee into the road would have resulted in so much pain? There were pain meds in the medkit, he knew that, but he couldn’t take any because there was zombie blood drying on his fingers and he couldn’t swallow pills with zombie-blood-coated fingers.

So his only option was to find a way to wash the blood off. A stream or a pond or something. He sighed and started packing everything back in. Finding a stream was a great idea if he ignored the fact that he had no fucking clue where to even start. Judging by the way Tex’s bike moved through the woods last night, it had one hell of a shocks system - absorbed so much of it that he could, plausibly, ride over countless zombie skulls with no problem. But that didn’t mean he wanted to go driving through woods in an aimless search for one pathetic body of water.

He was still packing things back together when he dragged his phone out. It had ended up in the bottom of the bag, underneath both the coils of rope. He grinned beneath his helmet for a few seconds, running his thumb over the dark screen, until he realized that the phone was dead. Of course it was. Felix hadn’t charged it since they left the hotel almost three days ago. He sighed, slid the phone into his pocket and stood, slinging the bag over his shoulders.

It was barely daylight, and he was standing off the side of a curve, surrounded by trees on both sides. Yeah, just like usual. Tex’s path through the mountains must have been chosen to steer them around any semblance of civilization. Right through the wilderness, down roads that were barely holding together. She must have thought they could avoid the bulk of the zombies - but, hey, she was wrong.

She had been horribly, horribly wrong, and now Felix was alone. He cast a look down either side of the road. There was nothing coming up either side of it. No zombies. No cars. Not even an animal aside from birds. He really was alone. Interesting.

Felix moved to sit on the bike, tapping his fingers on the bike’s handlebars and frowning. He had a choice here: Keep going forward or turn around and head back the way he came. Maybe he’d get lucky and find the campsite he had fled from last night along with finding water - really killed him to admit that he had had some kind of fear-induced spasm. But that’s what happened. Felix had a moment of weakness, and then he left Locus and Texas in the woods, surrounded by zombies, in the really early morning hours.

Which kind of made the decision easier, actually. Felix made mistakes, but he wasn’t a goddamn coward. He started the bike and headed back the way he came. There was a very slim chance that he was going to figure out where they had been last night. He hadn’t really paid attention while Locus was driving, and he certainly didn’t pay a lot of anything while fleeing from zombies. So he just… drove.

He pulled off down a dirt road after a while, speeding over fallen leaves. He tried not to think about the pain in his leg, or how his arms still stung from where he’d hit the road, and absolutely tried not to focus on his stomach growling. Eventually he caught sight of water glinting through the trees and turned instantly in that direction, driving right into the forest to park the bike at the edge of a small creek. And then he slide the pack off his shoulders, and sat in the water.

Cold water, naturally. Nothing was warm anymore. It moved slowly, coasting over smooth rocks. He washed the blood off his hands, off his boots, and then took a break to eat jerky. He sat and thought that today was off to a bad start.

Before he left the stream, Felix cleaned his knives and used one to shave. The stream was his mirror. Probably something that could have waited, but Felix refused to end up looking like a shaggy homeless man. In his experience, the bearded ones were also the drug addicts.

It was midday before he stopped again and then it was just to eat another slice of jerky and one of his rationed meals. He had found nothing familiar, nothing but more trees and some big rocks. The rest of the day proved to be the same and he was almost ready to give up and find a tree to spend the night in when he drove straight into a small town. It was like someone had taken pity on him and dropped the village right in his way. He rolled Tex’s bike through the front door of the first house he passed, shot a bird down for dinner, and slept sitting by the bike with the shotgun in his hands.

The next day was equally dull. He drove, he stopped to eat, he shot down an animal to cook over a small fire, and once or twice he had to take out a few zombies that were getting too close to comfort. It wasn’t until he stopped for lunch, pulling up alongside an old gas station, that he realized the bike was running low on gas. “Convenient,” he said to himself, glancing up from the bike to the station. “Time to beat gas out of a thirty-year-old pump… Here we go.”

He hadn’t even made it off the bike before three men burst out of the station’s front door. All of them were dressed in heavy gear and wearing helmets. And every one of them had a gun pointed in his direction. There was a red dot holding steady on his chest and Felix amended that to three _laser-sighted_ guns.

He sighed. Raised his hands up instantly. One hand was empty, the other held one of his knives, slipped from his belt the moment those assholes had stepped outside. And then Felix did the one thing he was best at. “Yeah, all right,” he said loudly. “You got me. Real good show you’ve got here - fancy guns, by the way, very nice. None of mine have lasers. Figured I didn’t need lasers when I was going to be shooting zombies. Is that what you guys are here for…? Zombies?”

One of the men spoke in a low, gruff voice. “Doesn’t matter, sir. Drop your weapon.”

“Hm, sorry? Weapons?” Felix shrugged one shoulder. The pack shifted in response. “All my weapons are in this bag.” Except for the pistol strapped to his hip but they weren’t even looking at that.

“The knife,” the man said. His voice was muffled, sounded like it was coming through an air filter. “Drop the knife, sir, and set the bag on the ground.”

“Oh, right. The knife. Sorry.” He laughed, tossed the knife into the air. “Let me get rid of that for you.” He caught the knife on its way down, and threw it in their direction with one fluid movement. If the suits they wore were like Felix’s own, then there would be weak points at the elbows and behind the knees and right at the base of the throat. His knife buried into the throat of the man to the left and Felix grinned, ducking behind the nearest gas pump. In the moment of silence, he called out, “Hey, is that guy dead?”

Gunfire answered him.

Felix laughed, yelled over the gunfire, “Sorry! Accident!” He pulled the pistol from his hip, leaning around the side of the gas pump. The last two men hadn’t moved and both of them had stopped firing for the moment. Felix raised his gun and fired twice. First bullet slammed into the center douchebag, skirting off his armor. The second one caught his elbow and dug in. Felix watched the man scream and drop his weapon before ducking back behind the gas pump.

The man that was left, his voice was higher pitched. He sounded young, unsure of himself, and he was absolutely a bad liar. “Stop shooting!” he said. “Just… put down your weapons. Come out here and you’ll live.”

Lies. Not even a bold-faced lie, just a really pathetic one.

Felix was considering the easiest way to take him out of commission - preferably quick so that he could actually kill Center Douchebag - when a gunshot embedded in the ground next to his foot. The ringing retort of a sniper rifle lingered in the air. Felix cursed and tried to get a good look at the building without showing himself to the assholes.

“Get out here now,” one of the men growled. Center Douchebag, sounded like. Back on his feet.

“If you don’t,” the younger man added. He sounded more sure of himself now. “then our sniper will take you out.”

As if to drive that point home, the sniper loosed another round. That one hit the ground less than an inch from where Felix sat and he had no choice but to give up. For now, at least, hand himself over and see how long it took before someone tried to kill him. Slowly, he rose to his feet, hands raised. The guns followed his movements as he let go of the pistol in his hands and took two steps away from the gas pump and Tex’s bike.

“Drop the bag,” Center Douchebag said.

Felix scowled and shrugged the bag off as well. It fell to the ground by the pistol, contents clattering together as it did.

The younger one lowered his gun, turning away. He lifted one hand to the side of his helmet, talking quietly. Felix ignored the one gun still trained on him, listening to the other man talk. “What about the knives?” he was saying. “Yeah, I know - I - he killed Ian with just one of those things, I don’t think we should - ...Yessir. I’m well aware you’re in charge. Sorry, sir.”

Felix whistled lowly. “Your kid there seems like a bit of a loser,” he said casually.

Center Douchebag said, “Shut up.”

Almost sounded like Locus. Almost. If Locus were about five inches shorter and maybe fifty pounds heavier, he might be this guy standing there and threatening Felix. That wasn’t a reassuring thought. Kind of fucked up, in some weird way.

The other man was still talking. “Are you sure…?” He turned his head back toward Felix. “I mean, we could kill him right now but - ...Yes, if you’re sure. … Okay.”

Center Douchebag turned his head an inch and Felix kicked a rock in his direction to watch the idiot jerk back.

“Uh, Greg? We’re to take him inside,” the other man said. “Wyoming wants to see him.”

Center Douchebag, apparently named Greg, didn’t seem to want to lower his gun. The red dot from the laser sights still traced over Felix’s chest. “...Are you kidding me? This fucker shot me!”

“I know, but - ”

“Hey!”

Both of their heads turned toward Felix.

“Who’s Wyoming?” He was grinning again, underneath his helmet. He had dropped his hands a long time ago but now he rested them on his hips, close enough to grab the knives strapped to each thigh. “I knew a state-named person once.” He tried vainly not to think about how goddamn easy it was to use the past-tense there. “She was uh… a bit of a badass, y’know. Just wondering if this Wyoming is the same way.”

Neither of them addressed him. They argued in hushed voices for about a minute before the younger guy said to him, “Just come with me.”

Felix started to pick his things back up and the guy said, “No. Leave it. Greg’s gonna bring it in.”

“Greg’s gonna break your fuckin’ neck, Xavier,” Douchebag Greg snapped. He walked over to grab Felix’s bag and pistol anyway.

“Can you get my knife out of the dead guy?” Felix asked. He was following the younger man, Xavier, and really couldn’t resist saying one last thing to the man. “It’s one of my favorites.” He heard the man curse as he stepped into the gas station.

The inside of the station was about as dirty as outside. Broken glass littered the floor, some it worn down to a fine powder. Any shelving that had stood in the place had been shoved up against the broken glass doors that had once held drinks. In their place was a table, one of those cheap kinds that folded up for easy storage. An arrangement of guns and ammunition covered the table. There were three huge lights standing around; two were off, one was pointed at the wall and shining on a map of the American hot zones.

There were only two other men inside. One of them was suited in black like the three outside. He was sitting behind the station counter, chewing on something that smelled disgusting. HIs eyes watched Felix with a level of interest that was alarming. People didn’t look at Felix like that,  because if they did, he was liable to stab their eyes into their brains.

The other man was in a suit that was identical to the others, except for the minor detail that everything but his boots was in a startling white. He said, “You killed one of my men” in place of a greeting and in the thickest accent Felix had heard in years. “Not the greatest way to make a first impression.”

“Yeah…” Felix stepped out in front of his escort, studying the guy. That white helmet was a little weird. “Is that accent real? ‘Cause I don’t think I’ve heard one that thick even when I was in England. It was a few years ago, so some details aren’t very clear - but really? That can’t be real.”

The man, Wyoming - at least that’s who Felix assumed he was - he didn’t answer right away. And when it did, it was to the man that had led Felix in. “Hm. Talkative one, isn’t he?”

“Sadly, yes,” Xavier said.

Felix frowned. “Can we not do this? This whole.. talking around me thing? Right here. Talk to me. I’m a nice guy.”

“Of course you are. A real gentleman.”

“...That might be stretching it a bit, but sure.”

Douchebag Greg had wandered inside then, and he flung Felix’s bag onto the table of guns with his uninjured arm. Somehow, Felix had the impression he was being glared at through the guy’s visor. Felix gestured toward him half-heartedly. “I’m not gonna apologize for shooting him, if that’s what you’re after. Or killing your other dude. Your men pulled guns on me  so, if you think about it, it’s really all their fault.”

Behind him, Greg growled an alarming amount of curses very fast. And Xavier twitched a bit too, not surprising since he didn’t seem like the world’s strongest man.

Wyoming assured him in that ridiculous accent that he didn’t have to worry about that all. “I did tell them to watch themselves,” he said. “They’ve been getting a bit too confident lately, I think. Acting like they can attack everyone.”

Felix only nodded. This whole thing wasn’t doing much beyond making him think about how quickly he could kill every person in the room. Douchebag Greg would go down easy, since he was wounded; the Xavier kid didn’t seem that big of a problem either. The problems laid with the brute behind the counter and Wyoming himself. Something about the guy just wasn’t sitting well. Could be the ridiculous accent or the easy way he dismissed Felix’s murder of his man outside - or maybe it was the sniper rifle leaning against the wall behind him.

Looked like Felix had found his mystery sniper.

“You shot at me,” he said suddenly, cutting across some bullshit Wyoming was spouting. “Didn’t you?”

Wyoming turned to look at the sniper and chuckled. Actually fucking chuckled. What a piece of work this guy was. “Ah, yes. I did. No harm done, old chap.”

Well, that was certainly one way to reassure himself that he didn’t want to be in here. Some weird British man, with apparently great control with that rifle. “That’s great,” Felix said. “Really, thanks for not shooting me. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. Think I’m gonna leave now, because you’re kind of a weird guy and I don’t like it.”

“Not just yet, I don’t think,” Wyoming said. All traces of amusement had vanished from his voice. “I have a ...let’s call it a proposition.”

“No.”

Wyoming ignored him and kept talking. “That motorcycle of yours? Must be out of gas. It’s a lovely machine, I’d hate for you to have to leave it behind and continue on foot. We can fill it for you.”

“Are you really trying to make a deal for gas? With _me?_ _”_ Felix could have laughed at the sheer audacity of this much bullshit. This guy couldn’t be serious. “Look, I don’t know who you are, who you think you are, or whatever - but I’m not bought off so cheaply. Take whatever it is you want me to do for you and shove it up your ass.”

There was the slightest silence before Felix heard the sounds of guns being raised. He glanced to his left, where Xavier had refocused his rifle on Felix’s back; he glanced to his right to see the brute behind the counter holding two big pistols in his direction. So he stilled, silenced, and glared through the visor at the man in front of him.

“Doesn’t seem as if you have a choice, mate,” Wyoming said. “Oh, don’t fret, it’s only insurance. All I need you to do is listen.”

So he listened. He stood there, arms crossed, listening to Wyoming talk. There was a highly specialized force incoming, apparently. One that had been sent into the hot zones six months ago. “Their only job is to kill,” Wyoming said. “They’re quite good at it.” He said nothing about what he and his men were doing there, but kept describing these people in this specialized force. He said they were each named after a state - “Yes, yes, just like me. I’m no longer a part of that project, I can assure you.” He spent several minutes emphasizing how dangerous they were, how they had killed not only zombies but living people with no hesitation.

Maybe he was trying to appeal to a sense of humanity or something, and Felix saw no reason to mention how long he had been killing people he met. “So, what? You want me to kill these guys for you?”

Wyoming laughed. “Oh, no, I can handle them. All I need you to do is help me find them, and bring them here.” He turned to his map, pointing to a red circle just over the Canadian border.

Felix could almost feel his heart sink into his gut. “Oh, man.”

“You know where this is, do you?”

“Yeah…”

“Good. Then you won’t need a map.”

Felix nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay, but - ”

“I’ll be there in just a few weeks,” Wyoming said. “Just a couple of  things left to clean up.” He gestured and his men finally lowered their guns. After ordering Xavier to go take care of Greg’s wound, Wyoming waved the brute over. “Get the boy his gasoline,” he said. “And anything else he wishes to take with him. Finding our friends is going to be a difficult journey.”

Felix waited until the guy had left before he spoke again. “Gonna tell me why you’re going after Kimball’s?”

Wyoming pulled his helmet off instead of answering, revealing a very untrustworthy smirk and one hell of a moustache. “Why don’t you stay for dinner, mate?”

That didn’t sound like an invitation he had the option to deny.

***

Their current camp was inside of a building so old that none of its windows had glass and almost every door had fallen off its hinges. There was almost no furniture left except for a table that had been shoved against one wall. Jensen had insisted on cleaning the floor of the biggest room before any of them could set up, but even though she started it, she had a sneezing fit and went back outside. Smith and Palomo finished it at least as best as they could. It was still pretty dirty and dusty but they didn’t exactly have a broom handy.

Bitters sat on the old table and refused to move. He cleaned the table off, sure, but after that he just sat.

Three hours later, he was still sitting there. He had watched Smith bring in food, watched Jensen pull out the tents and set them up, and was now watching Palomo warily. Maybe because Palomo had been bothering him for the past two days about the bike, but who really knew?

Of course it was the bike. It was always the bike. It wasn’t like the bike belonged to Bitters or anything, but he was the only who drove it. Which was really annoying when Palomo was squished into the jeep’s backseat with all their supplies and had to deal with Smith and Jensen for conversation. Not that either of them were all that bad but the more time passed, the closer they got, and the more Palomo wanted his motorcycle back.

“I’m not giving it back,” Bitters said before Palomo could speak.

“But it’s my bike.”

“No, it’s not! You stole it!”

Palomo laughed but it sounded like it got caught in his throat and Bitters frowned. “Pssh… That’s a technicality!” He started toward the table only for Bitters to slide off of it. “Aw, Bitters - ! Give me the keys.”

“No.”

“Bitters - ”

“Stop bothering me.”

Over by where Jensen had set up their tents, Smith glanced at them. “Guys,” he said slowly. “Can you not do this here?” He and Jensen were eating some kind of broth that they had been eating for, like, three days now. It smelled weird too, like a combination of stale bread and fish. Not very appetizing. In the failing light of the setting sun, the light through the broken windows threw shades of orange light over both of them.

Palomo gestured with both hands in Bitters’ direction. “Tell him to give me my keys.”

Bitters rolled his eyes and started for the door, said he was going to get food that didn’t smell like trash. Jensen huffed into her bowl and pointedly ignored him. She had been making all of their food lately, working with Smith, and took every bad comment about it as an insult to her personally. Which usually meant she was staring at Palomo with much anger that it was kind of frightening. Like it was his fault she couldn’t cook. He had told her once that she should stick to fixing the jeep and she had looked as if she wanted to run him over with it.

After a few seconds, Palomo hurried after Bitters. Outside of the room they had taken over was a small hallway that led to the front door. There was only one door that came off the hallway, and that led to a bedroom that smell like death and decay thanks to the skeleton that sat on the rotting bed. They kind of preferred to leave that room alone. Bitters was already at the end of this hallway and Palomo ran forward to tackle him at the waist.

He hit the floor with a thud and a curse, and Palomo barely had time to pull the bike keys from his pocket. Then Bitters had thrown him off and jumped on him. He punched, and Palomo threw his hands up to try and shove him off. It wasn’t working too well.

And then there were footsteps coming to them. Palomo turned his head, expecting to see Smith or Jensen, and was instead looking at the barrel of a shotgun. He squeaked, totally a manly sound, and used his grip on Bitter’s to squeeze the other’s arms tightly.

The woman holding the gun was dressed in what he could only think was a zombie-proof suit.It was mostly black, with purple and green accents. A very large dangerous-looking gun was strapped onto her back, and when he added that to the shotgun pointed at his face and the pistols on her hips, Palomo was sure he was going to die. She wore a helmet that looked black in the shadows and glinted purple where the light hit it. And she said, “The fuck are you doin’ here?”

Palomo said, “Don’t kill me!” as an answer.

Bitters muttered, “Smooth” quietly.

The woman pumped her shotgun once. “Answer the question,” she spat. “You’ve got thirty seconds before I decide to kill you.”

Just then, another person rounded the corner into the hall - which was great timing because Palomo couldn’t think of a single thing to say and was probably just going to babble until he was shot in the face. This new guy, though, his outfit mirrored the woman’s except the purple and green was darker. There was also a lot of blood on his hands and staining his pants. Not exactly a confidence booster. When he stopped by the woman, he stood several inches taller.

And he snatched the gun out of her hands. “You can’t just shoot everyone we meet,” he was saying. “These two don’t even look dangerous.”

“You told me to handle it,” she shot back. “I’m handling it. Clearin’ out the house so we can clean up this fuckin’ mess - ”

“South, we are not going to shoot them.”

“Yeah, sure, if they can tell me what the fuck they’re doing out here!”

While the two of them argued, Palomo whispered quietly, “Bitters, we may die here.”

Bitters shoved Palomo’s hands off of him. “If we do, it’s your fault.”

After a few more angry shouts from the woman, she snatched her shotgun back and stomped away. The man watched her go with a sigh, then turned to the two on the floor. “Sorry about her,” he said. He spoke in a much kinder voice, but the blood on him was still disorienting. It was like it didn’t quite match up with how nice he sounded. “You’re not going to get shot, I promise. I am going to need to talk to you, though, and anyone else you might have with you.”

Palomo glanced at Bitters, then back down the hall at the doorway. He was sure Jensen and Smith had heard all the shouting and, honestly, he was surprised they hadn’t come to see what was going on yet. He could have died out here and neither one of them would have noticed. It was kind of rude, if he thought about it. Instead of answering the blood-covered man, he just pointed with one hand to the doorway.


	5. the beat of sharpshooters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is entirely Freelancer-centric.

It happened with very little warning, and that was something she couldn’t forget. It festered at the back of her mind, gnawing every time the list of problems grew. It started simple. Just a minor issue with non-infected humans living at a house that had been included in a complete sweep. A house that Carolina and her team had been ordered to clear out, just like every other house in the town. They had been there for over two weeks, steadily advancing and taking out every zombie they saw. She had been glad that at least it was North that had found them. Unlike some of her team, North was the least likely to frighten people - and, as it turned out, these non-infected people happened to include two small children.

An entire family was living out here like they had nothing to fear. Six months ago, something like this would have baffled her, because they had been specifically told that no one survived for very long in these zones. These states were nothing but the dead; that had been drilled into her - into all of them - from the beginning.

They had ended up leaving the family there. The parents had insisted that they could survive, that they could handle themselves, that nothing would go wrong. Carolina didn’t believe them. But she didn’t have a choice.

And that was when things got worse.

The day they were leaving, Florida called to report that the family was dead. Shot down in their homes. All of their belongings were missing. Carolina and York had gone to check, to make sure - and then York’s visor had practically exploded from a sniper shot.

Carolina had dropped to his side, pulling his helmet off. The visor was supposed to have been bulletproof, but the shard sticking out of his forehead said otherwise. There was blood, a lot of blood, and Carolina had been in the middle of radioing for someone to come help when the second shot went off. She had whirled around in time to see Florida snap back with the force of the bullet. Straight into his side - a section that wasn’t protected by a bulletproof suit.

She was on her feet a second later. She scanned the houses across the street, the bushes and trees barely visible behind them, and then spotted someone in a black suit in one of the second stories. She fired while she called the others. One of her team’s vehicles pulled up in front of her, a van, and the Dakota twins had jumped out. North pulled York to his feet, helping him into the back of the van. South, of course, was already halfway across the street before York was even in the van. She followed Carolina’s bullets to the right house and kicked in the door.

Seconds later, another one of their cars had screeched to a halt and Maine had gone after South. Carolina had holstered her gun then, leaning down to Florida’s side. Whereas York had been groaning, Florida was silent. Combined with the blood that pooled around him, it didn’t look good. She lifted him up with North’s help, and then Washington was at her side as well. It took the three of them to lay Florida in the back of the van, next to where York was still moaning in pain.

South and Maine returned a few minutes later. “Didn’t give us a name,” Maine said.

“Or anything, actually,” South added. “He didn’t say a fucking thing.”

There was blood on Maine’s hands. Carolina didn’t ask what happened.

But that was nearly three days ago.

York sat beside her now, snoring as he slept. The patch of cloth over his eye was for the benefit of the others; York had been saying he was fine all day and was very insistent to remove the bandaging. After he was injured, South had pulled the shards of his visor out of his forehead, leaving the messier job to Carolina and North. It wasn’t the best they could have done for him, but at least he was alive.

She couldn’t say the same for Florida. He was still lying in the back of the Dakotas’ van, barely breathing, not moving. No one was sure what to do with him besides keep an eye on him. South had said that if he died, she’d put the bullet through his head before he could turn.

Not for the first time, Carolina wished she had some place to take him. Hell, somewhere to take York as well. Maybe if they had had actual medical attention, York would have even the slightest hope of still being able to see out of that eye. And maybe Florida wouldn’t be dying.

She had a lot of time to think while she drove, since York had fallen asleep in the middle of the day - again. He shouldn’t have stayed up as late as he did, but he had refused to go to sleep while she was awake. And she had let him, listening to him tell the same set of stories he always did. At this point she could probably quote them right back at him.

Carolina sighed, tightened her grip on the wheel, and focused on the road ahead. She was driving in the middle of their group, behind Wash’s  car. Maine was with him, and the Dakotas and the van were behind her. It had been quiet since the attack in that town. No zombies spotted, no calls from the Director to send them somewhere new. They drove, they ate, and York told her stories until she was considering forcing him to ride with someone else. The company was nice though, something that dulled the edge of the monotony.

Not three seconds later, Carolina watched as the front end of Wash’s car exploded into flames. She slammed on the brakes, swerving to avoid rear-ending the other car. York snapped awake, throwing his hands up to avoid hitting the dashboard. “What the hell is goin’ on?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Carolina said. She watched the car hit the edge of the road and roll into the ditch, landing on its roof. The entire front end was on fire, the front tires ripped to shreds. _Sabotage_ , she thought. But who the hell was out here to do such a thing?

Carolina was out of the car before she knew it, sprinting the short distance to the burning wreckage. The smoke was thick, the heat was too much, and she was forced to stop a few feet from it. She couldn’t see anything through the window. Each one was made of tinted glass. York was at her side then, cursing under his breath as she yelled for the two in the car.

There was no response but the sound of the fire cracking, of South shouting from the van.

Then the crumbled door flew off its hinges. York dragged her back and they watched Maine pull himself out of the wreckage. His forehead was bleeding, his arms were bleeding, but he still turned right back to the remnants of the car and reached inside of it. He emerged not two seconds later with Washington, pulling the smaller man through the broken door and the grass. York pushed past her to take Wash by one arm, lifting him up; he looked dazed, but awake.

She had a second to think that they could fix this, that Maine and Wash could fit into her car, and then gunfire filled the air.

The afternoon sun was shining overhead, and Carolina was watching Maine get shot full of bullets from an enemy hiding in the trees by the highway.

All she had on her was a pistol, and she was firing it in the direction the gunshots came from. Car doors slammed behind her and she glanced back for a second to see the Dakotas sprinting towards them. They each had at least two guns and for that, she was thankful.

The rest of it seemed to happen in slow motion. She fired, only stopping to pull another magazine from her belt and reload.

Wash was telling York he was fine, pulling out of his grip just to stagger backwards.

York, weaponless, reaching out to him again.

North stopping beside her, raising a sniper rifle and finding something in the trees that Carolina couldn’t see. He fired and she was certain someone died.

South sprinting past the burning car, shotgun in her hands. She lined up a shot and fired as she ran.

And Maine - injured, bleeding Maine was right after her. He shouldn’t have been moving after so many bullets hitting him.

That was when the car blew. The blast knocked her backwards, slamming her into the pavement. The explosion shouldn’t have had that much power, there was no way it could have had that much power, but she was lying with the breath knocked out of her lungs and her ears ringing. Carolina pushed herself up to her elbows, ignoring the pain searing on her back. There was movement to her left and she looked over at North, standing already. He offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet.

The gunshots had stopped, she noticed. The blast had also knocked York back, but he was still moving forward to help Wash back to his feet. By the trees, South was pushing herself up using one of the trees as a brace. She still held her shotgun and even with her ears ringing, Carolina could hear her swearing. Maine lay on the ground not half a foot away, no longer moving.

Other than that, the fire was still crackling merrily. Her breathing was harsh - Carolina was pissed. She didn’t know who the fuck had attacked them, but she had the sneaking suspicion that the enemy had blown up one of her cars. How the hell that could have happened, she had no idea.

“North,” she said. The anger bled into her voice, and she clenched her fists as she talked. “You and South need to get Maine in the van. He had better be alive.”

“You got it,” he said. He moved his sniper rifle to his back, jogging past her to reach his sister. She watched them both hover over Maine before turning to York.

“Are you alright?” she asked him.

He nodded, keeping one hand on Wash. “Yeah, fine. A little singed, but fine.” The bandage over his eye was blackened by soot, just like the rest of his face. He must have been facing the car when it blew, or he was too close, or something. “Wash, though, isn’t steady on his feet. He’s gonna say he is - ”

“I’m fine,” Wash muttered.

“He’s not,” York finished. “Look, Carolina, he’s in bad shape.”

“I’ll get him.” She walked the few feet to them while she talked, pulling one of Wash’s arms around her shoulders. He was breathing harshly, staring straight ahead with that same dazed look in his eyes. “Dammit, Wash, don’t be in shock.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

York stared at her with his one good eye. He shrugged one shoulder, a light, strained smile crossing over his face. “It’s like all he can say.”

“Go help the Dakotas with Maine. I’ll get Wash to the car.”

In twenty minutes, they were on the road again. This time, all Carolina had for company was Wash, sitting in the back of her car and staring straight ahead. York had stayed in the Dakota’s van, helping North try to stop Maine from bleeding to death. Carolina glanced at Wash through the rearview mirror, frowning. She really hoped he didn’t have any lingering effect  from this whole disaster.

They drove through the night, eating rations and only stopping when absolutely necessary. Wash fell asleep eventually, leaving Carolina in silence. She focused on the road, trying to find their attackers in the dark forests that flashed by.

At the first sign of daylight, she led the team into a town. A city rose into the skies nearby, empty buildings that belonged to the dead. The streets they drove down were crawling with zombies as well, dead creeping out of shadowy corners and broken buildings as the sounds of engines reached them. Carolina ignored them. She drove through the clogged residential streets, past zombie so rotten they were hardly more than skeletons. She drove for another two hours, pushing through the mess and taking detours straight through yards when the streets became two messy. The radio crackled as she drove, South’s voice coming through and asking her exactly what the fuck she was doing.

Carolina drove until she was in the neighborhoods, on a road that led further into the town, closer to the city. Nothing on either side but ruined buildings, half collapsed. She stopped at the first one that looked even the slightest bit secure. It was only one-story, built from brick, and the entire back lot was fenced in.

Wash woke when she slammed the door shut. He stepped out and stood beside her, stretching, yawning, and squinting in the daylight. “Where are we…?”

“New temporary home,” she answered. “Are you good to shoot?”

“Yeah, of course.”

In five minutes, Carolina stood with her helmet on, guns ready. The van was parked a few feet away, with the Dakotas were waiting both on her orders and for York to leave the back. One of the doors stood open, and she could hear York talking to one or both of the wounded men back there. When he finally jumped out, he held Florida’s helmet in one hand. He was smiling when he came to stand beside them. “Look, Florida’s letting me borrow his helmet. Since mine is still broken.” He had taken the bandage off his eye and the scarred flesh was shining in the sunlight.

“Oh, good, maybe only two of us will die now,” South said.

Carolina focused on their job. Paid no attention to South’s attitude, or York’s bad eye and how it looked almost completely white. “Right. North, stay here and watch the van. You see anything, shoot it. Do not let Maine or Florida be injured more than they are. The rest of you…” She paused, glancing at Wash. When the car had exploded, they had left without trying to brave the burning wreckage for the guns and equipment it held. Which included Wash’s helmet. There was bruising along his neck and on his forehead. “Come with me. And Wash - try not to get too close to anything.”

York clapped one hand on Wash’s shoulder. “I’ll protect him, ‘Lina, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you gonna hit the zombies or him?” South asked.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” North said. “Let it go.”

“I am fine,” York agreed. “Damn fine.”

“He’s only got one eye, and he hasn’t been in field since he lost it,” South continued. “Maybe I’m concerned, is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes. It is,” Wash deadpanned. “Can we go now?”

Carolina sighed. She could feel South’s irritation boiling from where she was. “We have a job to do. Let’s go.” She used the tone of voice of that they wouldn’t argue with. It was the same one she gave orders with, with the added bonus of anger and unveiled threats seeping into it.

They listened. She could feel the sleepless night weighing her down as they filed into the building through one of the broken doors. Moving kept her awake, the sound of gunfire more so, but by the time they were done she was spent. It took them nearly an hour to sweep the building and another thirty minutes to clear the dead out of a room large enough for them to rest in. Wash asked her if they were moving the wounded inside and she didn’t exactly know how to answer that.

How bad were they, exactly? Florida hadn’t been doing well at all, but if he was able to talk with York earlier, then maybe he was improving. Maybe he was good enough to be moved. But Maine… Maine’s injuries were fresh, and he had been bleeding a lot.

In the end, Carolina had gone out to look at them both. Neither of them talked - she thought Florida was asleep again; all she got from Maine was a greeting that sounded like he was choking on his own blood.

Carolina issued a watch for them. One team member at time, staying with the injured. She wanted to take the first watch, but York pulled her back inside. “You need to sleep,” he was saying as he led her through the building. “Let Wash take the first watch. It’s daylight, he’ll do fine. Besides, Maine likes him and Maine has been angry. Maybe Wash won’t be thrown from the car.”

She relented, sent Wash out, and fell asleep against the wall with York beside her.

They spent three days there.

Each morning, North and South would venture into the woods to find something to eat. She would check on Maine and Florida after they left. By the morning of the second day, Maine was insisting he could leave. His wounds were healing, as was Florida’s. According to Wash, Maine was tired of being locked in a van and he was getting especially angry with Florida. “Florida talks a lot more,” Wash said to her one afternoon. “Whenever he’s awake. It’s pretty much nonstop.”

Maine left the car of his own volition on the third morning, joining Wash as he explored further in the building. Carolina let them go. It felt safe here, and though that fact made her uneasy, she was sure her team could handle themselves if anything happened. She spent the morning with York and Florida, letting them tell another story together - one from years ago, something she hadn’t heard in a long time.  

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to happen. It lasted the whole morning, through the story-telling duo, through North and South arriving with fresh meat, and throughout breakfast. It was mid-afternoon before Wash and Maine came back.

They had found something.

Carolina and South followed Wash back through the building, down hallways and past broken doors. He stopped at one of the back doors that opened onto the fenced in back lot and told the two of them to look through the window in the door. He refused to open it and when Carolina peered through, she understood why.

Zombies. She counted over a dozen of them that were easily visible.

Every single one of them looked fresh, moving along at a casual walk, no noticeable rot. Each of them wore a heavy black suit, reminiscent of the one she wore. That all of them wore. It didn’t make sense for them to be back there. When they had cleared the building days ago, she had watched York open this very door to an empty yard.

South cursed under her breath when she got a look. “How the hell did they get back here?” she asked.

“No idea,” Wash said. He had moved way to a nearby window, watching the zombies stumbling across the lot. “Maine thinks we should just kill them all.”

“Yeah, _Maine_ could probably punch their heads off,” South said. “The rest of us can’t.”

“Thanks, South, I didn’t know that. Do you have any more wisdom to spread? Do you think we could use our guns to live?”

Carolina cut across South’s retort. “Stop it. This really isn’t the time.” She glanced at both of them, at the fighting stance South had dropped into and the withering glare on Wash’s face. They had been arguing for days, or maybe it was weeks. Too long, in either case. “Listen to me. We’re just going to leave.”

South turned to her then, helmet twisting around. “What? Oh, you cannot be serious!”

At the same time, Wash said, “Sounds like good idea, Boss.”

For whatever reason, South took offense to that. She laughed, a cruel sound, turning her entire body back to Washington. The gun on her back shifted with weight, scraping along the door she stood by. “I’m not surprised you want to leave, but did you ever think that this is a good fucking place for us? We’re living here, not just wandering. Maybe if we stay, Florida will actually be on his feet again. Maybe we’ll get a call from the Director and actually have an idea of what the fuck we’re doing.”

“You really want to stay here?” Wash countered. “Here? Where we could be ambushed at any minute?”

South advanced on him. “Sure! I’ll kill the fuckin’ zombies myself.” Carolina reached for her then, and South shrugged her hands off as they landed. “You think it’ll be easier to kill them if we have bait? We can use you, if you wanna try.”

“South, knock it off,” Carolina warned.

“No, seriously! He kind of deserves to be zombie bait, since he let Connie fucking die.”

Carolina considered taking South and dragging her bodily away. She could let North sort this out because she can’t deal with it. She suspected that CT’s disappearance had a lot to do with South’s increased anger, but this was new. The details surrounded the disappearance weren’t clear. She had sent Wash and CT to handle a small village, clearing out the dead. By her last report, both of them had been fine and were heading back.

“I had nothing to do with that,” Wash was saying. “I wasn’t even conscious!”

“No one believes that,” South spat. “You came back. She didn’t.”

Carolina reached for South again, yanking her back. “Stop it,” she said.

What Wash had told Carolina that day, weeks ago, was that the pair had encountered a small pack of zombies. They had stopped to kill them and Wash, embarrassed as he had been to say it, had slipped. And then he swore that a car had slammed into him.

A car. It knocked him out, and when he came to, there was nothing. No car, no zombies, and no CT.

Personally, Carolina could see why the story wasn’t believable, but bringing it up now was useless. “We need to leave,” Carolina said. She pushed South back down the hall about a foot, taking a step after her. “Wash, you - ”

And just like that, Carolina had another problem on her hands.

Gunfire filled the air, close. She turned back to the door to watch the door falling in. Wash was ducking down as the window beside him exploded. One of the zombies turned slowly towards them, and then started forward.

“Go,” Carolina said quietly.

Neither South nor Wash moved an inch. Wash was raising his gun, readying to fire.

“Get out of here,” Carolina said, louder. “Now!” She pushed against South’s back and the other woman broke into a sprint. She had to reach back and grab Wash’s arm, wrenching him away from the open door. She pulled the pistol from her side and fired as she ran, twisting around to land shots on the nearest zombies. Wash followed her example, and a trail of zombies followed them back to the front.

Every member of her team was moving, running things out of the building and back to the cars. Carolina rushed outside, skidding to a stop behind York. “Oh, what the hell is this?” she said. It was half a groan, half a tired sigh.

“Zombies,” York answered. “As far as I can tell, anyway.”

Carolina stared at him. Through the helmet, he couldn’t see her expression but she was pretty sure there was so much irritation in the look she was giving him that he could feel it.

Advancing on their vehicles was another half dozen zombies. It wouldn’t have been an issue if each one shambling toward them wasn’t covered head-to-foot in heavy armored suits. They mirrored the group in the back exactly, except every one of these was wearing a helmet.

“It was a joke, Carolina,” York muttered.

“Not a good time for jokes, York.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

They attacked, but it wasn’t easy. When CT had disappeared, she had taken their supply of knives with them. The helmets the zombies wore deflected bullets easily. So, Carolina aimed for their legs. She moved through toward her car, York on her heels. She glanced back once to see the twins moving together, and Maine punching in the visor of a helmet with Wash at his side.

She thought that they could get out of this easily.

They would leave.

They would be safe.

And then a scream cut through the air and she turned her head. North had pulled open the back doors of his van, only to fall over. He was holding Florida away at arm’s length and from her car, Carolina could see Florida’s jaw stretching, teeth gnashing. Cold dread pooled in her stomach - she was watching Florida, her teammate, trying to bite into North’s neck. It didn’t make sense. Florida was doing better, he had been just fine that morning.

Carolina fired and the bullet slammed into Florida’s shoulder. He didn’t move, didn’t even notice, and Carolina forced herself to see that it wasn’t a ‘him’ anymore.

Then South was at North’s side, kicking Florida back and firing her shotgun in the zombie’s face. It practically exploded, showering North with blood.

“Get in the car,” she told York. “Now.”

York opened the door instantly and halfway inside when a sniper shot rang out. The back tire of her car deflated in an instant. York froze, head turning as he searched for the sniper; Carolina scanned the area herself.

Most of the zombies were down, she saw, either crawling slowly or lying still with every joint shattered. Two lay dead near Maine, another several feet away from the Dakotas’ van. The zombies from out back were advancing, moving fast as they neared the front doors. Wash was shooting them down steadily as they came. And then, creeping slowly around the side of the building, she spotted several figures. All of them were in black, all of them armored.

“Oh, hell no,” she growled.

These black-armored men were responsible for Florida being shot to begin with. She was willing to bet that they were the ones who had sabotaged their car, the ones that had hid in the trees and fired on them and then vanished with the second explosion. Carolina and her team were being followed and she wasn’t going to let it continue.

She raised her gun and fired. At the same time, one of the men slung a knife in Maine’s direction. Another one opened fire on Washington.

Carolina was furious.

Her team was dwindling and these men kept showing up, kept opening fire on them. She shot one in the throat, another in the arm, and then York took her arm. She glared in his direction.

“Found the sniper,” he said with a nod toward the other end of the side of the road.

She could see the man standing there. The gun in his hands was nothing other than a sniper rifle and he fired right when she switched the gun to his direction. Another tire on her car went flat and she swore. The sound of gunfire was constant around her, zombie moans mixing in with it. She heard someone say “Got one” in a voice she didn’t recognize. And then the next round from the sniper slammed into the side of Carolina’s head and she fell.

She didn’t remember blacking out.

But then she woke up in the back of the Dakotas’ van. York was lying beside her, fast asleep. Carolina stared at the roof of the van, listening to the voices of her team. South was arguing with Maine, she could tell. She didn’t really pay attention to it; South arguing was almost background noise by now. She did wish South would stop, because Carolina’s head ached on both sides, pressure pushing against her skull.

There were guns on the floor beside her, a pile of them that clattered as the van turned. Her helmet sat by York’s - what had once been Florida’s.

She heard Maine say, “We have to go back.”

South groaned in answer. “I know you can kill anyone you touch,” she said. She sounded tired. “But we can’t. That is a slaughter waiting to fuckin’ happen. So sit down, and shut the fuck up for the rest of the goddamn ride.”

There was a moment of silence, just the sound of the engine and the wheels moving over the ground beneath them. Then Maine snarled, a noise that sounded like it caught in his throat. “Go back,” he said quietly. “He’s still alive.”

“Don’t care,” South said. “Not going back.”

Carolina sat up slowly. York stirred as she moved, his eyes opening slightly. She ignored him and turned to look at the others. North was driving, his helmet off. His reflection in the rearview mirror looked nothing short of exhausted. South sat beside him, arms crossed over her chest. She glared out the window, looking just as tired as she sounded. And then there was Maine, flecked with blood and taking up almost the entire middle seat.

It hit her quickly, waking her up completely. “Where,” she started. “the hell is Washington?”

All of them looked her way, North glancing back through the mirror. None of them offered an explanation.


	6. come straight from voodoo

The house was one of the few on the street that was still standing. It was by no means in good shape. All the windows were busted and the front door was lying on the porch. The twins had picked it, and Carolina figured they chose it because of the jeep parked on the overgrown yard. There was a bike on the cracked driveway, orange and black. It looked expensive, the paint glinting in the setting sunlight. By contrast, the jeep could use a new coat of paint; it was cracked and faded and old. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of person would own both of those vehicles.

Once her team stood before her, Carolina sent North and South in first. She told them, “Find out who’s here. Find out why they’re here. If they’re dangerous, you know what to do.”

South had started off before she even finished talking, sliding her helmet on and brandishing the shotgun. North said, “I’ll make sure she doesn’t cause too much trouble,” and followed her.

Carolina was left with Maine and York, each without a helmet. They were watching her, waiting for an order. She looked at them, at the blood that was splattered across Maine’s chest and arms, at the scarred skin of York’s eye. “All right, boys,” she said. “Let’s unload the van. We need to do inventory.”

They listened. Maine pulled open the side door behind him, and York headed to open the back doors. Since her team had lost not one but two cars in the past week alone, Carolina was wary about what supplies they had left. It had to be done though, just like eventually she was going to have to figure out what to do with two less men.

The three of them pulled out every gun and bit of extra ammunition, food, water, medicine - all of it. After a couple of minutes, South rejoined them and picked up two bags in each hand. “We found some guys,” she told Carolina. “North is talking to them, seein’ what they know or who they are or whatever.” She shrugged and headed back inside, Maine on her heels.

York glanced her way before shutting the van’s back doors. “Hey, are you sure you’re alright? That sniper hit you hard back there.”

“I’m fine.” She tugged her helmet on to avoid looking at him, thinking of the sniper and the zombie attack. It had only been a few hours since it had happened, but it already felt like a week ago. She tossed a duffle bag full of ammunition and guns over one shoulder and picked up a case of food, ignoring the ache in her head.

York gathered up the rest of their supplies. “Yeah, okay,” he said. They started toward the house together. “And what about Florida? Wash?”

Wash’s disappearance was still sinking in. He had been there, fighting with them, and then Carolina had gotten hit. York had said that in the rush to get away, someone had taken Washington and pulled him right from the parking lot. They couldn’t tell if it was the living or the dead because everyone had been in black.

She sighed. “Not now, York.”

“Carolina - ”

“Inventory first.” She paused on the porch steps to look back at him. He had slid Florida’s old helmet on, sunlight obscuring the entire visor. “We’ll find him, York.” _If he’s still alive_ , she thought, walking through the open doorway.

South was waiting at the end of a hallway, and she gestured for Carolina and York to follow her. They walked past a closed door and into a fairly big room. Three tents had been set up along the left wall, with food and two crates sitting beside them. On the right wall, Maine was standing by a table that was stacked with their supplies. Carolina,nudging York to get him to move from the doorway, gave everything she carried to South to set over by the table.

Across from the door stood North and the people he and South had found. There were four of them, young, and Carolina couldn’t help but think of them as children. One girl, three boys - and all of them were looking at her team in various states of confusion. The girl was eyeing North, probably because he stood closest to her and was talking. The one beside her was looking between North and her, uncertain who to focus on. The third one was crouched behind the fourth, staring at South without blinking. He looked as if he was trying not to be terrified and if that was the case, he was failing. And the last was looking from South to Maine with lingering glances.

Another problem.

“Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?” Carolina said.

North supplied answers readily enough. He introduced the team first, assuring the four kids that they weren’t in any danger. And then he went down the line, naming them. The girl was Jensen. Then Smith, Palomo, and Bitters. North said, “They haven’t even been here a day,” and the girl nodded.

“We’re just trying to find our camp,” she said. “We got separated a while back… See, we were part of a group, and - ”

“And now we’re not,” Bitters interrupted. He looked from Maine to Carolina, frowning. He spoke in a way that sounded final, and Jensen sighed quietly.

“We’re just trying to live,” the one named Palomo said. “That’s all we got goin’ on. Please don’t kill us.”

“I told you,” North said. “No one is going to kill you.”

Then South snorted, and three of the kids started talking at once; North started trying to calm them down, Maine growled something that most likely meant he was irritated, and York glanced her way with a half-hearted shrug. Carolina’s headache pulsed. She yelled for them to quiet, and then paused to rein her anger in before it became a problem. “You four,” she said, staring down the kids. “You have five minutes to tell me exactly what you’re doing here.”

Jensen started first. She talked about a camp, a pretty big one, that had been thriving near Denver, Colorado. There had been an accident, and the camp broke apart. Groups fragmented, heading in different directions to make new camps and start over. Jensen said that the four of them had been with a larger group of thirteen, but then these men came out of nowhere. “There was only one, at first,” she said. “He was nice, promised to help us.” This man, she said, had told them about a refugee camp just over the Canadian border. He only stayed for one day.

She stopped then, sneezing, and Smith took up where she left off. “He never gave us a name,” he said. “Which should have been a sign that something wasn’t right.” Apparently during the night, this man had turned his guns on the group. He had killed three of them before the others had gotten together. Their group had started to fight back when a second man appeared, firing into them.

Smith said, “When we left, three more men had showed up.”

The other two confirmed the story. They also said that they hadn’t seen the face of either man. Both of them had been covered by black suits and black helmets.

Something about the story was tugging at Carolina, pulling pieces together before she even knew what she wanted to ask. These kids - not kids, she told herself, just young - were traveling to try and find this camp they had been told about.

“How do you know he was telling the truth?” York asked. “If he attacked your group, he could’a been lying.”

“It’s the only chance we have,” Jensen said. “We can’t live out here alone.”

There was no chance in hell these four could tag along with Carolina’s team. The work they were doing wouldn’t be too dangerous, but after what happened to the last people she had left alone, that family with two small children… Carolina sighed. “We’re not going to kill you,” she said. “But don’t get in our way.”

Her team took inventory of their supplies on one side of the room, and the four outsiders ate their dinner on the other side. They whispered together the whole time, hushed voices carrying across the room. As for her side of the room, not a single member of the team bothered to lower their voice. They talked about what supplies they had left, about what they were going to do now, and as South put it, “Why the fuck hasn’t the Director contacted us? Or at least Command. What, have they written us off as dead already?”

Carolina didn’t have an answer for that. But she did know their next move. “We stay here tonight,” she said. “Tomorrow, we’re going to find a way to get more supplies before we run out.”

Tomorrow, she would figure out how to contact the Director. She was going to get them all back on track.

***

Dinner with Wyoming turned into him spending the night. It wasn’t what he had intended, but after the men cleared the guns off the table and brought out an actual grill, Felix saw nothing wrong with staying much longer. Sure, the meat wasn’t the greatest and Wyoming spent pretty much the entire dinner telling terrible jokes and informing his men they ruined the food with their brutal cooking - but it was meat, and it was grilled, and Felix ate more than he should.

The big brute of a man came back inside eventually to tell Felix that the bike’s gas tank was refilled. And that more air had been put into the tires. Which was great, but the man’s voice just made him even creepier. Low and threatening, every word. There was something about his eyes that just looked crazy and Felix made sure to keep the guy far away from him. Which meant he told the big guy to back the fuck off; the brute glared, but Wyoming laughed and suddenly, hey, not a problematic order to follow.

Seriously, the three guys that followed Wyoming did whatever he asked. There was one moment just after dinner, where a knife was slammed into the table an inch or two away from Felix’s hand, courtesy of Douchebag Greg. He was still glaring at Felix and started to threaten him, until Wyoming ordered him to clear a place for Felix to stay the night. There were a lot of orders after that - fill up their vehicles (which Felix hadn’t even seen), either burn or bury the dead man’s body, set up a perimeter, take the first watch that night. Twice as much work as the other two men were given, but damn if Douchebag Greg didn’t hurry along to do each one.

Felix watched him work. “I don’t have to take a watch, do I?” he asked quietly.

Wyoming smiled. “Oh, of course not. You’re a guest.”

All in all, dinner was only a little uncomfortable.

The spot that had been cleared out for him to sleep was in the back of the station, tucked away behind the counter. It was not a nice place to sleep, not by a long shot. The station was dirty, and the floor was disgusting. All three of Wyoming’s flood lights were on and shining to light up the bulk of the station and the outside. The three men paced the floor during their watches and none of them were quiet about it.

Felix fell asleep sitting up with the shotgun in his hands. It must have been a light sleep because he could hear every footfall and hushed word the others spoke. At some point, it blurred into his dreams. He dreamt of a huge complex, rotting from the inside out. Long endless hallways with wooden floors that creaked when he stepped on them. Walls that crumbled where he touched them, doors whose hinges had been broken off, yet still refused to open for him. Any that did only led him to another hallway, stretching on and on. Zombies started filing out of the doors he passed, the ones he couldn’t open. They never came close enough to grab him, just followed his footsteps even as he slowed from exhaustion.

And as an added bonus, not only was everything overrun with rot and not only were there crowds of zombies bursting out from every corner and every doorway, but those echoing footsteps and quiet voices followed him everywhere. Taunting him. He wanted to stop, even though he knew stopping meant the horde would have him. Something about the complex was sapping his strength. The gun in his hands grew caked with rust.

He hadn’t realized what he was looking for until he found Locus, lying dead in a room in the center of the complex. Tex stood over him, bitten and bleeding and still holding a gun in his direction. She cursed him, fired, and then the horde pressing at his back pulled him down.

When he woke, it was so sudden that he still thought he was dreaming. He was clutching his shotgun tightly, fear tracing through his veins. He nearly shot the man that was pacing by the station’s empty windows before he caught himself.

Reality was a thing, he reminded himself. There were no hordes in here, just some really strange, possibly dangerous people. He loosened his grip on the shotgun and leaned back against the wall. It was cold, seeping through even the kevlar jacket.

Felix didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He settled for watching the shadows in front of him creep back slowly as the sun rose, watching as the dim light painted the world bright. An hour after dawn, all three men were awake and discussing which one should wake Wyoming. It seemed like a good time to pick himself up off the floor, dust off his clothes, and pretend he had slept through the night. Surprisingly, it wasn’t hard to face the three men with the same careless attitude he had had yesterday.

It was another hour before any of them actually left to wake up Wyoming - apparently, the asshole had claimed the entire back room for himself. Felix was sitting on the counter when Wyoming exited the back room. He was dressed in that bright white outfit again; hell, he might have slept in it - Felix sure as hell didn’t bother taking off his suit lately. As Wyoming ate his breakfast, complete with a cup of hot tea that one of his men apparently summoned out of thin air, Felix readied all his things to leave.

It didn’t take long.

He was about to slide his helmet on and get the hell away from these people when he spotted an entire case of instant coffee sitting on the table they had eaten dinner on the night before. Another two sat on the ground below it. “You guys have coffee,” he blurted out. “I lost mine.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but since Felix had never bothered to explain why he was on his own, it’s all he was going to say.

“Take it,” Wyoming offered. He rolled his eyes when Greg protested. “They have far too much of it.”

Felix helped himself to it gladly. He ripped open his pack and started forcing as many containers of the stuff in as he could. Instant coffee was terrible when compared to actual, real, brewed coffee but out here it was a life saver. No one had time to use coffee grounds when zombies could invade a camp at any moment, and instant coffee only required a pot to boil water and something to hold it in. It was the saving grace of so many late nights.

But, now that he thought about it, Felix didn’t really have a pot or anything to hold coffee. He had been cooking animals over quickly made spitfires, stabbing meat with sharpened sticks. He paused in the middle of pushing coffee in his bag and tossed a glance at Wyoming. “You got any kind of pots I could have? Kind of… lost that too.”

Wyoming looked as if he was going to ask about that, but in the end, he sent one of his men out. The young one, Xavier. He came back in five minutes with one pan, a small pot, a thermos. “For the coffee,” he said with a shrug.

Felix could have kissed him. Instead, he took everything that was offered to him and forced it all to fit in the pack. In the middle of rearranging things, he pulled out some of the ammo he had and frowned at it. When he stood, he tossed it to Wyoming. “Sniper ammo,” Felix said. He didn’t offer any explanation. Wyoming merely smiled and added it to his equipment before offering to walk Felix out to his bike.

Felix told him no and still found himself standing by the bike with Wyoming at his side. He was listening to Wyoming go through those highly specialized soldiers that he was sending Felix to find - and he did say soldiers this time. Wyoming mentioned all of their names, a short description of them, and when he was done, Felix only said, “Has anyone ever told you that your moustache makes you look like a porn star?”

Wyoming raised an eyebrow. “No.”

“Like one of those 1980’s porn movies,” Felix added. He pulled the helmet on while he spoke. “I meant that as - y’know, as a compliment. Not many people can pull off pre-zombie porn star and still be vaguely creepy - oh no, wait, everyone can. I think the moustache itself adds a level of creepy.”

“Yes, yes, you’re quite hilarious.”

“Got anymore helpful info, Pornstache?”

“Just go.”

Felix grinned as he sat on the bike. Wyoming was annoyed, he could tell by the tone of his voice. He started the bike before Wyoming could say anything else and pulled out of the station. The early morning sunlight was turning steadily into afternoon and Felix sped past a few more trees before the land around him changed into overgrown meadows.

He still had no idea where he was going. Last night wasn’t particularly bad, in retrospect, but he was glad to be away from Wyoming and his band of creepy ass minions. He just wished he had asked for a map or a little insight into where the fuck he was going. It wasn’t that he really had a plan to find the group Wyoming spoke of, and he certainly wasn’t about to help someone launch an attack on Kimball’s place - but anything would be better than what he was doing. And whatever direction he would have given would have been a good starting point. Driving aimlessly down broken highways wasn’t much fun when he was with Locus, and it certainly wasn’t fun on his own.

He stopped after a couple of hours for an uneventful lunch, staring at the mountains and the empty lands around him as he ate. There was a near constant wind blowing through now, piercing down to his skin with cold gusts. Sitting there, he tried not to freeze, pulling his knees against his body. He started to think back on the dream he’d had - specifically the rotting building and crowds of zombies. Felix decided that was a good enough break. Once he was back on the motorcycle, he put all his focus into driving. It wasn’t a surprise that he would have really weird dreams. He had had them in the past, he knew, but they always faded away completely after like, ten minutes. Remembering any details made his skin crawl.

When he stopped for dinner, Felix thought he should find a river or a stream or anything and follow it. One of his water bottles was empty and the other was half empty, so a constant source of water would be a good thing. Plus the bike had good enough shocks so that he could ride it through forests with hardly any issues.

Felix slept by the bike that night, curled around himself to block out the cold.

He had the same dream again, of that twisting complex with its impossibly long halls. The only difference was that the zombies would grab him as soon as they appeared. He had to move faster, but he couldn’t; his feet sank into the floor with each step. When he found Locus again, he was already decaying. Tex was slumped against the wall beside Locus’s corpse, not moving, not breathing. Her eyes watched him, though, angry and accusing and devoid of life. The zombies gripped his shoulders and pulled him back.

Then he was awake, staring wide-eyed at the stars and feeling his heart pounding. He was on the road again soon after. Driving would push everything else back.

Once the sunlight came up, Felix pulled the bike down the first dirt road he found. Or at least, it looked like a road. It was hardly more than a path, really, peeking out between the sparse trees. He followed it down to the edge of a river, one that snaked between the mountains and then flowed smoothly. He parked the bike on its shore and dropped his pack on the ground next to it.

Halfway through breakfast, Felix decided to make coffee. It was the best decision he could make right now - he was tired, and coffee would keep him awake. Lots and lots of coffee. He ended up sitting in front of a small fire, drinking more warm coffee than he really needed to. The bag of jerky sat abandoned at his feet. Instant coffee was disgusting, cheap, and somehow bitter and sweet at the same time. Felix loved it. There was so little warmth left in the air anyway, especially in the early mornings, and by his second cup he was warmer and one of his legs wouldn’t stop twitching.

Before he left, Felix refilled his water bottles and made another thermos of coffee. He drank heavily from it, sinking back on the bike. HIs leg was still twitching incessantly, and he drummed his fingers on the helmet in his lap as he sat there, staring ahead. He scanned over the bank of the river - too many rocks to drive over - and the small amount of trees around him. Most of the trees had petered off, leaving large gaps between them. Easy enough to drive through.

Felix pulled his helmet back on and turned, pulling the pack around to shove the half-full thermos into a pocket on the side of it. He reached forward to turn the keys and stopped, hesitating before splaying his fingers out across the front of the bike. There was something, some kind of cord, just by the ignition. Maybe the caffeine was setting in and making him easily excitable, but he was already grinning when he pulled on it and it slid out just a few more inches.

“Oh, shit,” Felix said quietly. His phone was still in his pocket, had been sitting there for days, dead and black and lifeless. But Tex’s bike had a charger, one that fit perfectly.

He was actually excited.

It was just a phone, but Felix was excited when the damn thing powered up.

He sent just one message. All it said was, “Hey asshole. Call me.”

The charger’s cord didn’t stretch far enough for him to shove his phone into his pocket, so he forced it to sit by the forward edge of the seat. He  figured he would just drive slow while it charged, make sure it didn’t fall off and break - honestly, he’d probably run it over if it fell. He had been driving for little over an hour  when the phone rang and he slammed on the brakes so quickly he jolted forward. He answered the phone while scrambling to pull his helmet off.

When he brought the phone up to his ear, he didn’t hear anything but the distant sound of an engine. The van’s engine. It had to be. He was grinning again, staring off into the distance like a jackass. “Hey,” he said after a few seconds. Stupidly casual, emphasis on stupid.

The response was immediate. “Felix.”

Just one word, his own name, spoken with so much urgency, or anger, whatever. He still sighed when he heard Locus’s voice. Relief flooded through him, something he didn’t expect.

“Where are you?” Locus said.

“Mm, Locus,” Felix said quietly. “Good to hear from you too. Were you worried? It’s okay, you can tell me. You can tell me all about how concerned you are over where I’ve been. Did you wonder if I was dead? Tell me.”

“Felix.”

“I mean, how long has it been? Like.. five, six days? Good long time, plenty of time for you to sit up late and ask yourself where your beautiful lover was.” He laughed then, couldn’t help it. Calling himself Locus’s lover was just ridiculous.

On the other line, Locus growled, already annoyed. “Where are you.”

He glanced around at the trees, the creek, the mountains rising steadily around him. “I have no idea. Lots of trees, though. Pretty much everything I’ve seen in in the past few days has been trees - trees and mountains, and I found a nice river - but, yeah, mostly trees.” He paused long enough for Locus to remind him of the phone’s GPS feature. “Right, that. Yeah, it doesn’t… doesn’t sound like a lot of help, y’know, when I have no fuckin’ clue where you are or what I’m doing or where I’m going. Also, just turned my phone on today.”

“We can find a place to meet,” Locus said slowly. “Tell me where you are.”

“Fine, fine. Hang on.”

He took his time pulling up the GPS locator, humming to himself. He was feeling good now. Today was a good day, and would stay a good day, he was sure of it. He sent the coordinates to Locus before bringing the phone back to his ear. “Did not know I had crossed into Wyoming recently, so I guess there’s that fun fact. Wyoming, by the way, does not look a bit different from Colorado. Just a lot of trees and mountains - and I already mentioned the trees, didn’t I?”

Locus ignored every word he said. Instead, he started talking about the towns that were nearby and how long it would take him to get there - and, yeah, okay, Felix kind of lost interest. “It would take a couple of days,” Locus was saying. “but I can meet you there.”

“Right. ...Meet me where again?”

Locus was quiet.

Which left a silence that was clearly asking for Felix to fill it. “Oh, I met this guy. I wasn’t going to tell you, actually, because he was a fuckin’ creep, but whatever.” Here, Locus tried to interrupt him, and Felix ignored him and recounted the entire story about Wyoming. Including the details about a zombie hunting squad of specialized soldiers. He talked fast, not giving Locus another chance to say anything. His leg was still twitching, foot bouncing where it sat on the ground.

There was a few seconds of silence before Locus spoke again. Even then, all he said was, “Are you done?”

Felix was tempted to find something else to talk about, but he said, “Yeah, yeah, totally.”

“This man you met,” Locus said. “Did he tell you anything else?”

“Nope. Nothing, and trust me, there was a lot of things I could ask him.”

“Hm.”

“ ‘Hm’? Really, that’s all? Guy’s probably planning to kill these weird zombie-hunting soldiers - and that doesn’t bother me, y’know, it’s his business - but he’s trying to recruit me? What absolute bullshit is that? He tried to buy me with some cooking supplies and a lot of coffee.”

“It’s nothing.” A pause. “...He gave you coffee?”

Felix nodded to himself. “Oh, yeah. Lots of it. Had like three cups or so already. Actually, I’ve got one I should finish up before it gets cold. Which reminds me, it is getting seriously cold at nights, it’s terrible out here.”

“Goodbye, Felix.”

“Hey, wait!”

Locus sounded very irritated when he said, “What is it?”

“Tell me you’re happy I’m alive.”

Locus had hung up before he even finished the sentence. Felix laughed quietly, setting the phone back against the front of the seat. He pulled the coffee out and gulped down the rest of it. A touch above lukewarm, but delicious. He drove another hour before he stopped to eat - and to make more coffee. His phone went off again, a message from Locus with coordinates to a town nearby and a note to ‘try not to die’. Felix paused with a chunk of jerky in his mouth to send one back - “Knew you cared.” He turned the phone on silent before he climbed back on the bike.

He drove alongside the riverbanks for the rest of the day. The town Locus said to meet at was somewhere off to the west, but if it was going to take Locus several days to get there, then Felix could spend as much time here as he wanted. The water really was useful. He drove much slower than usual, somewhere around fifty instead of ninety or well over one hundred. When he stopped for dinner, it was barely dark and his phone was fully charged. Dinner was meat - just meat, because Felix was too busy making coffee and texting Locus to care about finding the ingredients for soup.

By midnight, Felix had given up on sleep. He sat by the fire even after Locus stopped answering, making coffee and drinking it while he looked through the photos on his phone. There weren’t a lot. He had taken a lot more with Locus’s than his own, more so than he had thought.

He was driving again before the sun was up, weaving slowly between the trees. He had managed to tie the helmet to his pack and munched on jerky as he drove. It had been days since he had seen a zombie, so leaving the helmet off didn’t seem like a problem. Apparently he was so far away from anyone that not even zombies bothered to come out here. He spent the rest of the day driving slowly, checking his phone to look for the nearest road to turn back to, and stopping every time he felt even remotely tired.

Eyelids heavy? Time for more coffee.

Entire body screaming for sleep? Have more coffee.

He found a road by sunrise the next day, and took the time to fill one water bottle with coffee. Totally worth sacrificing water to make sure he didn’t fall asleep and drive off the side of the road. He drove slow even on the road, creeping along so that the cold air didn’t bite into his skin. Every so often, when he actually felt the fatigue gripping him, he stopped to take a long drink of coffee. It had lost the delicious factor at least five hours beforehand, but it was the only thing keeping him awake and he still refused to go back to sleep.

He knew it was stupid, but if he had that goddamn dream one more time, he was going to break something. Plus, now he could figure out how long he could stay awake before collapsing.

Nothing happened for the rest of the day, aside from when Felix spotted one zombie crawling along the side of the road. At some point, the thing had lost its legs and wasn’t a threat to anything. He watched it while draining the rest of the coffee out of his water bottle. Once it was empty, he fastened his helmet back on and drove a touch faster.

As night fell, he steered the bike offroad. He still wasn’t planning to sleep but he was starting to think the bike was running low on gas. “Didn’t get gas from Wyoming,” he said, parking the bike by a small tree and sighing. “But got enough coffee to poison a bear - probably.” He took a moment to stretch, and could actually hear his spine crack.

And then, well… He had nothing else to do but find a way to get gasoline. According to his phone, there was a gas station about three miles up the road. Did he want to walk six miles just to refill a motorcycle’s gas tank? Not at all, but pushing one six miles sounded even worse. Every bone in his body was tired, and pushing against this thing was going to make his shoulders ache so badly that he could already feel it starting.

Felix sighed, pulling the helmet off and letting it drop to the ground. He ran his hands through his hair, listening to the owls call and the sounds of twigs snapping. The sun set and he stood there, watching the lights of a fire cast moving streaks of orange.

He was slightly ashamed at how long it took him to realize that a fire in the woods meant someone was there. Honestly, his first thought was that it was a wildfire and he was going to die. But after that notion was beaten back, Felix readjusted the pack on his shoulders and started forward. It was an easy enough idea: follow the light of the fire and the low murmur of voices, and then ask whoever he found if he could trade anything for gas.

Simple enough.

The fire was small, he saw that through the trees as he approached. It had been built in the middle of a clearing, and two people sat across from one another, a man and a woman. Neither one of them wore helmets, hell neither one of them seemed to wearing a full suit like he was. Good. Maybe defenseless idiots would be easier to ask favors from. Felix could intimidate defenseless idiots.

He hadn’t taken two steps into the clearing before a knife was launched in his direction. He dodged it, and then got enough of a glance to see the woman standing by the fire and holding another knife. A very long, very sharp knife.

And then he was slammed into the trunk of the nearest tree. The man was gripping Felix by his jacket, forcing him into the tree. It was pretty awkward since the pack was pressing into his back. But this man was blond and actually kind of attractive - probably not what Felix should be thinking. Especially because this man also looked like he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through Felix’s head given the chance.

“Who are you?” the man asked. Completely serious.

Felix intended to answer that truthfully, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was: “Y’know the last man that did this to me, he ending up fucking me. Is.. is that where this is going? Are we gonna have sex?”

The man glanced behind him at the woman. Some kind of silent exchange went on between the two of them. She shrugged, he sighed.

Felix ignored both of them. Now that he had started talking, he couldn’t stop. “Now, look, I don’t know how I feel about sleeping with a man I have literally just met, but if it’ll stop me from being shot, I’m okay with it.” Some part of his brain was embarrassed that he hadn’t shut up yet. It took another twenty seconds of him babbling before the man let go of him and something slammed into the back of his skull.

 


	7. it's not greed, but necessity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a [gift](http://8tracks.com/alphaniner/jamais-vu-1),

His hands were tied. It was one of the first things Felix was aware of: his head hurt, opening his eyes took far too much effort, and there was rope binding his hands together tightly. Really tightly. He tried to pull his hands apart and the rope dug into his wrists. Felix frowned and glanced from his bound hands to the pair by the fire. The typical cold breeze blew through, upsetting the flames and tossing strange shadows.

His assailants. One man, one woman. They were talking quietly, neither having noticed he was awake again. 

Good. Gave him a moment to get his bearings back. It was difficult; waking up felt like pulling himself through quicksand - difficult, slow-going, and a feat of exhaustion in itself. Now that his eyes were open, he couldn’t ignore the ache in his back or how the muscles in his legs screamed for him to move, just change the way he was sitting. And the way his head throbbed, that too was very hard to miss.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but it was very dark now and the fire wasn’t large enough to bring a lot of light to where he sat. They had propped him up against a tree, these two assholes, and Felix figured that was a likely contender for his back ache. Spending so long on the bike was his second guess. He tried to move his legs first, maybe to stand, maybe just to sit in a way that didn’t feel like pins were shoved into his calves. And that was how Felix found out that they had tied his legs too. Thick rope coiled around his legs up to his knees, tied tighter than his wrists were.

Felix scowled, moving to try and undo the knot. He quickly found that with the gloves on, his fingers couldn’t get the traction to yank at the knots. One of these fuckers was an expert at tying complicated knots too. He resisted the urge to thrash in rage - it wouldn’t accomplish anything, as appealing as it was.

Even more appealing was the growing need to insult these two until they let him go. Insult, yell, do anything. It took a hell of a lot of self control for Felix not to say anything. He paused, trying to reel back the anger.

The woman said, “It’s your decision.”

The man said, “That’s just a lot of weapons, is all.”

Felix looked back at the fire, glancing over both of them. They had donned jackets while he was out; hers in brown, his black and highlighted with something that was shifting between yellow and orange, depending on where the fire hit it. She was eating. And the man… He was holding one of Felix’s knives. Felix’s pack sat by his feet, opened, and his guns were lying between the pair.

 _Motherfuckers_ , Felix thought.

“So what are you gonna do, Wash?” the woman said. “Kill him and take his weapons?”

He didn’t answer, only frowned at her.

Felix could feel his phone in his pocket. Fantastic. They had stripped him of his knives and taken the pistol from his hips along with going through his pack, but at least he had a phone. That he couldn’t even get with his hands tied together.

The woman had called him Wash, the man holding onto one of his knives. Felix thought that he could kill Wash, he could do it easily because the fucking asshole had the audacity to go through his shit. And then he had chosen to sit there and talk about killing Felix oh-so-casually.

“I don’t know,” Wash said after a while. “With all these weapons, he has to be dangerous.”

“We have a lot of weapons,” the woman said quietly.

“What do you want from me?”

“Just trying to make sure you don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Felix cleared his throat.

Both of them snapped their attention to him in an instant. He raised his bound hands, forcing a smile. “I don’t know which one of you did this,” he said. “but untie me. Now.” He tried to sound casual but his frustration and anger bled through. He wasn’t surprised when neither of them bothered to move. “You can untie my legs first. See, I’ve gotta take a mean piss and it’s a little hard to do that when someone - not naming names here - someone has gone and tied me up in some pisspoor imitation of bondage. I’m not a bondage guy on my best days but - ”

“All right,” Wash said, getting to his feet. “Just… stop talking.”

Felix obliged for the moment, watching Wash advance to where he sat. He kept smiling even though he knew it wasn’t doing anything to dispel the idea that he could be dangerous. Unless the warmth of his smile bothered to reached his eyes, Felix was hardly doing more than leering at Wash. Not that he meant to, but the man was still wielding Felix’s knife. He spun the blade in a way that clearly meant he knew how to use it, kneeling down to work it underneath the ropes around Felix’s wrists.

It sliced through easily. Points to Felix for excellent knives.

Felix pulled his hands apart instantly, shaking the ropes loose, pulling at the ends until they came off. Then Wash was holding his knife out, hilt first. Felix took it in one hand, the smile fading away.

“This is your rope,” Wash said. He pulled at the knot that secured the rope around Felix’s legs. There was the lightest smirk on his face. “You can cut it if you want.”

Felix sighed. He slid the knife into its place on his belt, reaching down to pull at the knot. His rope was tough, crafted in such a way as to prevent just what Wash was telling him to do. He wasn’t going to waste the time sawing through it. No matter how quickly he could rip the thing in half, the rope was more valuable in one piece. So he untied it, working at it slowly. Wash went back to his seat by the fire; Felix pretended not to notice.

Once he pulled the rope from his legs, Felix ran his hands down his aching legs, sighing. He really did have to piss, but his head was still hurting and his medicine was in his pack. He narrowed his eyes at Wash, at his pack sitting by the strange man’s feet. Felix was pretty sure he was going to have to kill this man. And the girl too, of course.

It didn’t even cross his mind that, according to his current job details, killing these two was exactly what he should be doing.

Felix shuffled over to the fire to snatch his pack from Wash, glaring at the man as he did. He fished the medkit out, pulled out the pain meds, and then grasped a water bottle. He scanned the campsite while he took the pills.

Nothing too fancy. A pair of bags, a few guns, and a couple of blankets. Definitely not enough to survive out here. He wondered if these two hadn’t gotten separated from a larger group. Or maybe they had other supplies stashed somewhere - but if that was the case, why stay out here in the woods?

He dropped the pack again. “Don’t touch my shit,” he said, eyes sliding over Wash’s face. Still attractive, still an asshole. Still had to kill him. “That includes the guns - literally just everything. If it’s mine, don’t touch it. Common fuckin’ decency, honestly…” He glanced over at the girl; he still didn’t have a name from her. “That goes for you too. And I don’t know which one of you thought it would be a good idea to tie me up with my own rope, but I don’t appreciate it.”

She smiled but said nothing. Until he stepped out of the clearing and heard her say, “He talks a lot, doesn’t he?”

He didn’t stop to catch Wash’s reply.

He found Tex’s bike after he relieved himself, sinking onto the seat. His helmet was between his feet, faint outlines of fallen leaves standing out in the dim moonlight. Felix pulled his phone out of his pocket - no messages, no calls, nothing. Well, he had to change that. No point in keeping the damn thing charged if Locus was only going to contact him every few days. His first text told Locus he was a shitty partner, not even bothering to see how Felix was doing? Rude. So rude.

The second text: “Met some people. Prolly gonna have to kill em. This guy Wash, he took my knife.” He was in the middle of a third, asking Locus what kind of name ‘Wash’ even was - because wash was a verb and not a name, Felix can’t get over that - when the phone vibrated in his hands. He answered it without hesitation. “Hey, Locus. How’s it goin’?”

“Think again, asshole.”

“Aw, shit.”

He hadn’t thought much about how Texas was doing, not since he had escaped from that whole zombie horde fiasco. And, okay, she had shown up in his dreams - nightmares? - but that didn’t really mean anything. But she was probably the last person he wanted to talk to right now, seeing as he was sitting here on her bike.

“Look, Tex,” Felix started. “I didn’t mean to take your bike, so can we not do this? Give Locus his phone. Why do you even have this phone? Are you with Locus? ...Ohhh, you bitch, you stayed with him. Didn’t you? You two fuckin’ assjockeys are out there together and I’m alone, are you kidding me - why does this always happen?”

Tex snorted. Short, derisive, and tinged with anger. “You stole my bike, Felix. But we can talk about that later.”

“...We can?”

“Absolutely. Right now, I want you to tell me about these people you met. About Wash.”

Just the way she spoke his name made Felix certain she knew him. It sparked a curiosity that was almost enough to make him forget the fact that she had bypassed all of his questions. Almost. “Yeah, sure. Only if you tell me where Locus is and why you are answering his phone.”

“For fuck’s sake, kid.” And with that, he could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Locus is asleep. I pulled first watch tonight.”

Felix paused to check the time. Phone screen read 22:15. Not even 10:30, wow. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

“He hasn’t been sleeping well,” she said dismissively. “Focus, Felix.”

“Wait, no - why hasn’t he been sleeping?” A grin was cutting through the fading haze of his headache. “He’s been worried, hasn’t he? Aw, the idiot.” In his ear, Tex was cursing and trying to make him shut up. He ignored her. “Tell him - when he wakes up, okay - Tell him I said that’s adorable, but he doesn’t have to worry. I can totally take care of myself when he’s not around. It’s probably going to be a blow to his pride, but that’s okay, he could do with having his ego checked.”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” she snarled. “I’m trying to help you out here.”

Well. That was new. “...Alright. What is it, then?”

“Wash, Felix. Tell me about Wash.”

He paused, glanced back through the trees at the where the light of the fire was glinting. When he told her about the pair he had found, he wanted to leave out the part about one of them knocking him out. But then she was asking about how Wash got one of his knives and then he had no choice. He did, however, absolutely leave out how he offered to fuck Wash - because, really? Really? That was just embarrassing.

 _I am never drinking that much coffee again_ _,_ he thought, listening to her talk.

“You’re in luck,” she said. “The last time I saw him, Wash was a bit paranoid, but it’s easy to get on his good side.”

“Really? ‘Cause he kind of tied me up with my own fuckin’ rope.”

“People change, alright? I can’t know everything about the guy. Haven’t seen him for five months.” She laughed again and it sounded exactly the same as the one earlier. Like she was mocking him. “Look, the point is, as long as you’re not pointing a gun at his face, he’s not gonna have a reason to shoot you. And, yes, Felix, Wash can kill you. Don’t fuck around with these people.”

“But who the fuck is he?”

“He’s one of my… one of the people I used to work with. Wash is short for Washington.”

That was entirely obvious now that he heard it. Made a lot more sense than a guy going by a verb instead of a name. Felix hummed thoughtfully. He was still staring off in the distance, toward the fire. It was cold out here away from it.

He realized that, if what Tex said was correct, then this guy was one of those zombie-killing specialists. One of the deadly, dangerous, incredibly skilled people that the creepy British fucker had told him about. It didn’t quite add up since Felix couldn’t see what was all that dangerous about Wash - sure, most of Felix’s contact with him had involved getting slammed into a tree, but whatever. If he was one of those specialists - if he was a highly-trained specialist - then that meant that Felix had unwillingly done exactly what Wyoming had asked of him.

And for some reason, that annoyed him. He had had plans to completely ignore Wyoming, find Locus, and figure out how much longer he had to stay in zombie hot zones. It was a good plan, one of his best. Yet, here he was. At a camp with a guy who went by Washington.

Felix sighed. “Thanks for the warning, Tex.”

Tex said, “You can’t kill these people.”

“Yeah… Yeah, okay,” he said, not really paying attention. Another headache was forming despite the pain meds he had taken, pressure building behind his eyes. He had the suspicion it was fueled by the irritation that flooded through him. Tex had hung up on him and he shoved the phone in his pocket, standing. “Do what assholes ask of you, Felix,” he muttered. “Don’t get fuckin’ paid for it, goddammit. Fuckin’ Wyoming is a shitstain and I’m gonna kill him.”

He could get away with it. Technically, his job was to murder everyone he found.

Felix was wheeling Tex’s bike back to the campfire before he even thought about it. And when he emerged into the clearing with it in tow, Wash and the woman looked his way. Specifically, they were eyeing the bike. “What? I didn’t walk here.” He set it to the right of the fire, away from either of them, and balanced the helmet on its handlebars before he sat down beside his pack. With both of them watching him, Felix put all his guns back where they belonged. He strapped another knife to his belt while he was at it. When he was done, he shoved the pack over by the bike and rested the rifle in his lap.

They were still watching him. “Uh… What are you doing?” Wash asked.

“Thought I’d stay here,” Felix answered. He glanced between both of them before settling his gaze on Washington. “Doesn’t really make sense to go off in the middle of the night, right? You guys have a fire. As long as no one knocks me out again, it’ll work great.”

“So, you’re just going to - ”

“Name’s Felix, by the way.” He smiled, nice and pleasant. Mostly. His head was still hurting and it was a little difficult to charm someone when pain was settling around his skull in an iron band. “Nice to meet you, Washington.” At the look of surprise on Wash’s face, the smile widened to a grin. “Could’ve done without you knocking me out - it was you, right? I mean, she was kind of far away. Which reminds me…” He slid his eyes from Wash to the woman then. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

She smiled warily, exchanged a look with Wash, and then said, “You can call me CT.”

His first impulse was to tell her that wasn’t a name, but then again, he was running around with Locus. And goddamn if that man didn’t chose the strangest names to go by. “Alright. CT and Washington. Nice.”

They had questions, of course they did. Namely, how the hell did he know who Wash was? Answer: “I’m smart.” He said it with a smirk. It wasn’t a real answer but he wasn’t going to give an actual answer. Maybe they’d think he was mysterious. Or, much more likely, they’d just be really suspicious of him. Either way, it was better than telling people he knew Texas. He wasn’t sure why, but it just felt like something he didn’t want to go broadcasting. So he pretended not to notice that Wash and CT wanted an actual explanation, helped himself to the food that was hanging over the fire, and deflected all their other questions with half-truths.

What was he doing out here? Separated from a group.

Who was he with? Couple of people, no one too interesting.

Where did he get the suit? Stole it - and that was the truth. The black jacket Felix wore had come off the back of one of Control’s bastard minions. His own was accented with orange and currently sat in the back of his van - where ever the hell that was.

Was that his bike? Obviously. Why else would he be driving it?

Why the hell was he eating their food? Hungry, clearly.

“You guys ask a lot of questions,” Felix said when he finished eating.

“We don’t usually get people inviting themselves to spend the night,” CT said.

He thought back to how they had knocked him out, and then tied him up, and all the talk of killing him - and, yeah, Felix could understand that. These were not friendly people, he thought, but unfriendly didn’t outright mean dangerous. He glanced over CT, over the knives that were strapped to her lower back and amended that thought. She was dangerous.

She didn’t look like much. Soft features, short hair, small build. She had been smiling pretty much since he had woken up - save for the slightest falter when Felix had named Wash - and it looked real natural, like she really was in some permanent good mood. She was cute in a way, with none of the angles that Wash had. She also had a calm air about her, like a direct contrast to Wash’s suspicious act. Like she wanted to invite people in. Which Felix didn’t trust at all because she had thrown a knife at him not even seconds after he appeared. A knife that had missed him, but only just - and Felix knew knives and how to work them and this girl, CT, she had way too much control over those things. Plus, that whole smiley bullshit thing? Yeah, he didn’t buy that either. Girl was gonna be trouble.

But then Tex had said Wash could kill him. Like specifically told Felix not to fuck with him.

Sounded more like a dare than a warning.

Felix fell asleep without even noticing. If there was anything in his dreams, he didn’t remember them, because his morning started with a boot in his side. He tried to groan - too much effort. Tried to roll over - also too much effort. He didn’t think, too tired to think, just swatted lazily at the person beside him. He was falling asleep again in seconds, listening to the early morning birds. It was like they were singing him back to sleep, and Felix wasn’t going to deny them that. Sleeping felt like floating, which he was okay with right now.

He heard a voice say, “We could just leave him. Can’t we leave him?”

And the answer: “Just wake him up.”

Then another kick to his side, which he ignored because at this point he didn’t even know if he could open his eyes.

“Connie.”

A sigh, footsteps, and then someone yanked on the front of his jacket until Felix cracked his eyes open. The girl from yesterday - CT, some part of him remembered that through how fucking tired he was - she was holding onto his jacket, looking down at him. Felix squinted back. It was too bright and keeping his eyes open was almost impossible. Felt like weights.

“Awake now?” she said.

He grumbled something close to words and tried to pull out of her grip. It didn’t work. Goddamn, he was exhausted. CT pulled him forward until he was sitting, letting go of his jacket to pat him on the shoulder. He grunted in reply.

“Good.” She stood and walked out of his line of sight. “Don’t go back to sleep, we’re leaving soon.”

That was all good and well for them, of course, CT and her asshole pal. But Felix was sure there was some problem with this. He sat where he was, staring forward, trying to think and getting nowhere through the tired fog clouding his senses. He watched the trees move in a light breeze, the leaves falling, and the clouds moving in to block out the sun. Eventually, he gave up and sighed. “I need coffee,” he said. Or tried to say. He only got two words out before yawning.

Definitely needed coffee if he was going to be awake.

Felix pushed himself to his feet and stretched. It did nothing but convince him he needed to lay back down and get a few more hours of sleep. Like three or the entire rest of the day, both were good choices. Instead he turned, to see CT standing nearby. A pack was slung over her shoulders and she was holding a rifle in her hands. Wash was a few feet away, pulling his own pack on. The fire was dead at his feet; Felix looked at the embers and ashes, and frowned.

“Need coffee,” he mumbled. “No fire. Can’t make coffee.”

They exchanged a look and CT went rummaging through her pack. She came out with a thermos, tossed it to Wash, and said, “Have mine. We helped ourselves to yours. Seemed like you had enough to spare.”

 _No one_ took Felix’s coffee, and if he was more awake, he would have made that clear. As it was, he was too tired to even take the three steps to Wash’s side without stumbling over his own feet. He ended up latching onto Wash’s arm for support, drinking heavily from CT’s thermos as he did. That same disgustingly bittersweet taste of instant coffee flooded his mouth and he loved it. Hopefully it would actually wake him up. He tossed the thermos back to CT when it was empty, and just then realized that she looked highly amused. “...What?”

She shook her head.

Wash yanked his arm loose, shoving Felix back with the same hand. “Don’t touch me,” he said, eyes narrowing when his gaze landed on Felix.

Felix blinked. “What?” He felt like he was missing something here. The reason why Wash was glaring at him would be a nice start. It was like a new record. Been awake, like, ten minutes and he had already pissed someone off. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Ignore him,” CT said. “He’s still touchy ‘cause you said you’d fuck him.”

Wash looked from Felix to her instantly, glare dissolving. “Connie, can you not?”

“It’s true.”

Felix looked from Wash to CT to Wash again while the information finally processed. Right. The stupid shit he had said last night. “Oh -! Oh, no.” He grinned, a tired grin, and winked at Wash. “Nothin’ to worry about, man. I’m only attracted to dangerous men.”

 _Tex said he was dangerous_ _,_ a part of his brain whispered.

Felix sighed at his own thoughts and moved to the bike. Still didn’t believe that, but of course he’d remember it now. He leaned down to pick up his pack while CT said something about how not even _he_ thought Wash was dangerous. Whatever that meant. At some point, one of them had moved Felix’s rifle to lean against the bike - maybe he had dropped it while he was asleep, he knew he had it in his hands. He threw that over his shoulders as well, kicking up the bike’s stand and moving it forward. He paused as he passed Wash.

“Just remembered,” he said. “Bike doesn’t have gas.”

“That’s too bad,” Wash said.

“You can have some of ours,” CT said. She threw Wash a judgmental look. “Calm down, will you? Guy’s practically dead on his feet, I don’t think he’s a threat.”

“Yeah, but - ”

“And he said he wasn’t interested in you,” CT added. “You don’t have to trust him, Wash.”

“Right here,” Felix said. He gestured toward himself as both of them looked over. “Can hear every word.”

CT threw another look at Wash and started walking, waving for Felix to follow her. He grinned at Wash before he did, pushing the bike over leaves and twigs. There were footsteps behind him, and then Wash was walking on the other side of the bike. Felix considered saying something to the guy. The coffee was pushing him to be more awake - still tired, but not liable to fall over in a dead sleep any time soon. But then the trees ended, and Felix stopped at the edge of a dirt road.

It wound through the forest, disappearing around curves and heading further up into the mountains. It was a road that hadn’t even been on the GPS on his phone, but of course it wouldn’t be. Most dirt roads weren’t. This one actually looked pretty well-traveled, groves still worn in it by wheels of cars. No branches lying too close to it or actually in it. Hell, there was barely even any grass growing along the abandoned trail. Trees towered over head, and somewhere he could hear a brook or a river or something.

And then he saw their car. CT had pulled open the back of a humvee, and she and Wash had tossed their bags inside. An actual humvee, painted tan. It’s wheels and underside were caked with dried mud, dings and dents littered every part of it Felix could see - and he still couldn’t get over it. A fucking humvee. The back of it was filled with crates and cases of water and bags. No wonder their campsite hadn’t had too much in the way of supplies, all of it was here. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that these two had a military-grade vehicle when CT walked around the side of it and opened one of its doors.

She pulled out a gas can, hefting it easily.

Felix blinked at her. Some part of his brain, whatever section wasn’t dead tired or wired up by caffeine, was prompting him that CT was dangerous. A problem. A girl with knives and guns and a goddamn military humvee. He took the gas can from her to fill the bike’s tank. “So,” he said slowly. “Where are you two going?”

CT took the empty can from him and shoved it back into the car. “We’re finding a camp,” she said. “Supposed to be the biggest one out here.”

Felix nodded, sliding his helmet on and swinging a leg over the bike. “Oh yeah? Where at?”

“Near the Canadian border,” she said.

Felix paused. “...You wouldn’t mean Kimball’s place?”

Wash had disappeared around the other side of the car but Felix heard his voice call out, “What do you know about Kimball’s?”

“Uh. I know Kimball, for starters. She gives me things, I help her out.” CT turned around, leaning into the still open car door and whispering to Wash in hurried tones. Felix ignored her and kept talking. “Haven’t been up there in a while though. It’s a bit of a drive…”

CT emerged again and walked up to him. She reached up, taking his helmet in her hands. “All right, Felix. Change of plans.” She snatched the helmet off his head and slide it over her own. “You’re going to take us to Kimball’s.”

He stared at her. “Excuse you? I’m _going_ to? That sounds like an order and I don’t take orders well.”

“You don’t have a lot of choices, Felix,” she said. She moved to the side of the bike, pushing him off with one smooth, strong shove. “Wash went through your supplies. He says you don’t have a lot left, and there’s no way you’ll survive out here without help. Help us, and we’ll help you stay alive.”

Felix stared at her. At his helmet covering her head, how she sank onto the bike as if she belonged there. This was not at all what he had expected. “You have got to be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“Get in the car,” CT said.

“Get the fuck off my bike, how about that?”

Then there was a hand on his arm and he looked over at Wash standing there calmly, holding onto him. Wash’s gaze was sharp, observant, his eyes sliding over Felix’s face before he glanced over at CT. “We’ll follow you,” he said. He yanked Felix after him, pulling open the passenger door of the humvee and shoving Felix inside.

He left the door for Felix to close, crossing over to the driver’s seat.

“This is bullshit,” Felix said as he slammed the door closed. He dropped his pack at his feet, laying the rifle in his lap again. He heard the bike start up and looked at the side mirror in time to catch CT driving up to their side and then past it.

Wash ignored him and started the humvee.

“So much bullshit,” Felix said.

It was a while before Wash spoke. “She thinks if you drive that bike, you’re going to kill yourself,” he said. “Too tired to drive. And since we need you to get to this camp, it’s best if you live.”

Felix had been staring out the window, at the trees passing by. Mostly he was looking at the leaves changing colors and trying to pretend he didn’t notice how easy it was for him to slip back into the role of passenger. Sit there, stare out window, try not to piss off the driver. He looked back at Wash now. “You two were going to let me speed off somewhere,” he said slowly. “Even though she thinks I would have died on the bike.”

Wash nodded.

“That’s… kind of fucked up, don’t you think?”

He shrugged.

Felix huffed, slammed his feet onto the dashboard of the humvee and sank lower into the seat. Despite the coffee earlier, sitting here was dragging all his exhaustion back up. The noise of the wheels rolling over the road didn’t help much either. His eyes closed and he thought that this was alright, for now, because the humvee was a lot warmer than being outside. He fell asleep again shortly after, leaning against the humvee’s door and listening to the sound of Wash shifting in his seat.


	8. now i don't focus on the hopeless

They only stayed for three days. It sounded short but it felt like too long, like they were spending too many days in one place. Carolina attributed that to the fact that, prior to the last couple of weeks, they had always had somewhere to go and something to do. The radio silence was driving her mad - no contact with Command and the Director meant no direct orders. No way for any of them to know where they were supposed to be going. Which basically led to everyone going a little bit stir crazy.

South went on increasingly long trips into the surrounding town. She never took the van, and was always accompanied by either North or Maine. Once she tried to talk one of the four outsiders into going with her. A couple seemed interested, but North had dragged her away before any of them had agreed.

York spent most of his time hanging around Carolina, distracting her from getting things done and retreating when he felt she was getting too angry. Or, in his words, ‘too scary’. Then he’d go back to bothering North if he was around. Basically, York was being a pain in the ass. Carolina thought that he was probably bored.

And Carolina spent her days trying, and trying, and trying to figure out what the fuck had gone wrong. She couldn’t stop thinking about those black figures shooting York and Florida, the cars exploding - that had to have been their work - and then the attack later that week. They were always on her mind, traipsing through her dreams, and none of it made sense. Who they were, where they came from, what the hell they were doing - she couldn’t figure it out.

They couldn’t have come from the Director; she would have known. And they wouldn’t have attacked her team.

They wouldn’t have taken Washington.

On their second day there, Carolina had asked the girl, Jensen, about the man that had attacked the group the girl had been a part of. “You said he wore black,” Carolina said. They were outside, beside the van, and Jensen was covered in grease stains. Carolina had interrupted her from working on the dirty old jeep. “Was it all black? The entire suit and the helmet?”

Jensen paused. “Well… Yeah, I think so. I mean, Smith swears there was color on it, like accents of red or orange or something. I don’t remember, really, it was a while ago.” She shrugged, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry, really, it’s just - ”

“It’s fine.” She hadn’t expected much anyway, just had a sneaking suspicion.

“Why were you asking?” Jensen said.

Carolina saw the black-suited men, guns firing, merging with the zombies. “I might have met his friends,” she said after a long silence. “Several times.” She sighed, started to turn away.

“Oh! I, uh... I can take a look at your van,” Jensen said. She was grinning when Carolina looked back at her. “Give it a tune-up, make sure everything’s working right, things like that.”

“Really? You want to do that?”

She nodded “Yeah! I’m good with vehicles.”

Carolina could feel the pride pouring off the girl. Like working with vehicles was the greatest thing she could ever ask for. “All right,” she said. “Just make sure you don’t mess up any of the equipment.”

She left Jensen with the vehicles then, heading back inside. Her team had moved most of their equipment back to the van after doing inventory, but a few pieces were still inside the house, including the van’s communicator. It was expensive, easily the most valuable thing they owned because it had the ability to connect directly to Command, to the Director. It bounced signals off of satellites, pulling long-distance calls through easily. There was a delay of a second or two between each response, but it had always worked.

Except now. It sat on the counter of a rotting, broken kitchen, quiet. They had tried everything to get it to work - it had a signal, North had said, but it wasn’t picking anything up. Carolina glanced at it, pausing in the kitchen doorway. Three lights blinked back at her, all green, everything online.

She shook her head, leaving the kitchen behind and heading to the back of the house. Her team had set up in there to sleep, in three small rooms that weren’t completely destroyed just yet. Maybe they had been bedrooms once, or an office, a den - there was no way to tell because nothing was left. The entire backside of the house was an empty shell of creaking floors, busted windows, and warped walls.

Sleeping arrangements were supposed to have been South and Carolina, York with North, and Maine by himself. None of them slept through a night and every day Carolina awoke in the middle of the night to York lying beside her within arms reach; South was never there. Where she slept, Carolina didn’t know. In the room with her brother, most likely. York was there again that night, asleep with one hand resting on Carolina’s arm.

Early the next morning, Carolina found Jensen sitting on the kitchen floor with two of the boys. Smith and Palomo, she thought. All three of them were looking at a small black box that Jensen was holding. Carolina stopped, watching as Smith shoved Palomo’s hands off of it.

“You’ll break it,” he said.

“I will not!”

“You might,” Jensen said softly. She turned the box over in her hands, frowning. “I can’t get it open…”

Palomo reached for it and she smacked his hand without looking up from the box. “Aw, guys… I can help.”

“Breaking it isn’t helping,” Smith said. He leaned forward, peering at the box.

“I could… break it open?” Palomo offered.

Carolina took a step into the kitchen and all three of them looked up. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll bite. What are you three up to?”

Jensen’s eyes widened. She exchanged a glance with the two boys then looked back up at Carolina. “I - I know you said not to touch anything in the van,” she started. Carolina’s eyes narrowed and Jensen held the box up. “But this… I just, I don’t think it’s yours. It doesn’t have that symbol on it, and it was in a strange place, I just thought - ”

Carolina kneeled down beside her, pulling the box out of her hands. It was heavier than it looked, solid black and not so much as a visible screw showing on the case. There were scratches on its top, presumably from where Jensen had pried it loose from the van. “...Where was it?”

“Under the dash,” Jensen said. “Way in the back. I was just cleaning out the inside and it was loose, so I just …I pulled it off. It’s not yours… is it?”

Carolina shook her head and stood slowly, staring at the box in her hands. “No… No, this is not mine.” She left the kitchen, staring at the thing as she walked. Whatever it was, she wasn’t sure but it couldn’t be good. All of their equipment was branded with a symbol, a logo almost, something recognizable that linked it back to the Director as his property. And none of their things looked like this.

She passed the other boy, Bitters, in the hall. He said, “Why do you have a jammer?” and Carolina froze.

“What did you say?”

He pointed to the box in her hands. “That. It’s a jammer.” He looked at her face and frowned. “Don’t… don’t you know that?”

Carolina said nothing. She was staring at him and she could see it was unnerving him - she must be glaring, but it wasn’t at him. “A jammer.”

“Sure. Fucks with electronic signals.”

“And how do you know that’s what it is?”

“Found one on our jeep,” he said with a shrug. “Took it off. Threw it in a lake.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Bitters sighed. “There’s a compass in the jeep, it’s hooked up to some fancy shit - I don’t know how it works, you’ll have to ask Jensen. All I know is that after our group was attacked, everything in that jeep started going haywire. I found a box like that, took it off, threw it away, and in a few hours, everything was fine again.” He shrugged again as if that was all the explanation she needed.

Carolina looked from him to the box in her hands - the jammer if he was right. “So you think this is a jammer because your jeep messed up?”

“That jeep belonged to some army guy, it’s full of shit, just like your van is,” Bitters said. “And I _know_ that’s a jammer. Go ahead and put it next to your fancy equipment, see how well things work then.” He walked away then, back down the hall to where he and his friends were staying.

Carolina stared at the thing in her hands for a few seconds longer before heading back to where she had slept. This thing - this jammer - it made sense when she considered the failure for their communications to pull in a signal. Someone, somewhere, had found a moment to anchor this thing in their van.

York was still asleep on the floor, lying flat on his back in the middle of their blankets. She took one look at him and slammed her first into the wall as hard as possible. “York!”

He jolted, eyes opening. “I’m awake! I’m awake…” He sat up slowly, yawning. “Hey, ‘Lina.”

Carolina tossed the black box at his feet.

“Uh… what is this?”

“I need you to open it.”

He stared at it, at her. He ran a hand through his messy hair, yawning again. “Jesus, ‘Lina… Can’t a guy eat first?”

“York.”

“Breakfast first, alright? I’m starving.” He got to his feet slowly, slipping his feet into his boots without tying the laces. By the door he paused to pat Carolina on the shoulder, squeezing. “You stress too much,” he said quietly, running to his hand down her arm. “Calm down a little. Try to relax.”

Carolina stared at him, saying nothing. He offered her a tired smile before walking away. _Relax_ , she thought. As if it could be that easy. There was a box on the floor, a fucking jammer, that was very likely the reason for the radio silence. She had no handy body of water to dispose of it in, like Bitters claimed he had done.

And those damn black-armored men.

Florida’s death.

Washington, still missing. The longer they took to find him the more she couldn’t help but think that he was dead.

Maine and South were driving her insane, impossible to keep up with - for god’s sake, it wasn’t even seven in the morning and Maine was missing. Had probably left before sunrise.

How was she supposed to relax?

It took two hours for York to crack the box open. He was seated at the table in the front room, the one where Jensen’s group stayed. Carolina walked in to see him pulling something out of it, a smaller box it looked like. North was standing beside him, talking to him quietly - and Jensen and her friends were watching intently. Well, most of them. Bitters seemed to have fallen asleep, leaning on that noisy Palomo kid.

“What have we got?” Carolina asked, crossing the room to York.

He hefted the smaller box in one hand. “This,” he said. “is the jammer. Real high end, super expensive.”

North reached over York’s shoulder, pulling at something else that ran along one side. It took him a bit to work it loose and frayed wires popped out of it when he did. “And this… is likely a tracker.”

Carolina’s gut turned to ice. “A tracker,” she repeated.

“Yep. I don’t know who put this in the van,” North continued. “but it’s definitely how they kept finding us. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already on their way here.”

Fury rushed through her, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “We’re leaving,” she said. “North - wake up South, tell her to get ready. We are finding Maine. We are getting the fuck away from that thing.”

North nodded, leaving the room at a brisk walk.

From the other side of the room, Jensen spoke up. “Did you say… a tracker?”

Carolina snapped back to them, the anger in her face evident. “If North is right - ”

“He is,” York said. “That’s definitely a tracker.”

“Then someone has been following us,” Carolina said. “We’ve been attacked three times, and it is far overdue for a fourth.”

The three of them that were awake glanced at each other, at Carolina, and then Palomo jumped to his feet. The motion dislodged Bitters from his shoulder, sending him to the floor with a grunt and a curse. “We gotta go,” Palomo said. He sounded strangely calm, like this news wasn’t even a problem. “I don’t wanna be caught in this.”

Jensen looked at Smith beside her. “Uhm… Yeah, okay…” she said slowly.

“If they show up for you,” Smith said to Carolina. “What would they do to us?”

“They killed one of my men,” Carolina snarled. “They shot York.”

He waved at the four of them, smiling.

“They blew up two of our cars,” Carolina continued. “And they abducted another one of my men. They will treat you the same, and unless the four of you have some hidden abilities, it isn’t going to end well.”

They were silent. York muttered something about going overboard and Carolina shot him a glare. And then, from the floor, Bitters said, “I didn’t understand half of that… but I’m not stayin’ here to die.” He got to his feet and started dismantling one of the tents. The others joined him shortly, at a much slower rate.

It took the four of them thirty minutes to pull down the tents and by that time, North and South were pushing all their equipment back in the van. The tracker North had left on the kitchen counter. The jammer was still in York’s hands. He seemed confused about what to do with it, frowning at it as they stood as a group by the van.

“How do our radios work?” South asked. “It’s a jammer, but we can still call each other?”

“Different frequencies,” North answered. “The one for the communications with Command are different, they have to reach longer distances.”

South made a disinterested noise. “Whatever. I’m driving this fuckin’ van.”

North sighed and handed over the keys. “What are we doing with that thing?”

York shrugged. “Could leave it here.” He turned it over in his hands, then tossed it onto the ground. It settled in the overgrown grass. “I was just wondering who the hell put it in the van.”

South rolled her eyes. “Does it matter? It’s gone, those assholes can’t find us now, so who fuckin’ cares? We see any of them again, we can get the jump on them.” She pushed past all of them to pull the van’s door open.

Carolina glanced back at the doorway as South climbed into the drivers’ seat. She watched the door until Jensen and Smith walked out, each one holding heavy bags. They threw the bags in the backseat of the jeep and then Jensen turned and waved slightly. A quiet goodbye if there had ever been one. Carolina nodded in response.

York leaned close to her. “Are we gonna leave? Gotta find Maine. Can’t believe he went out on his own.”

“Yeah,” Carolina said. She heard York move away then, climbing into the van, but she didn’t move until the other two boys left the house. She couldn’t bear the thought of another group of innocents being slaughtered just because her team was too close to them. She watched as Bitters climbed into the jeep, Palomo headed to the motorcycle, and only when both vehicles started did Carolina move to sit in the middle seat with York. He turned his head to her but said nothing, only placed his hand over hers, sliding his fingers between hers. When she looked at him, he had turned back to the front and all she could see was his bad eye. The scar still looked terrible.

South seemed to know where she was going, driving through the streets without pausing at intersections. She drove past broken down houses and rusted cars, heading out of the small neighborhood. She only drove for about five minutes, pulling up alongside a small park that overgrown with weeds and rolling the window down. “Hey, asshole!” she yelled out. “We’re leaving! Get in the fuckin’ van!”

Carolina exchanged a look with York. He raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and then they all watched as Maine came lumbering out of the woods at the edge of the park. “What the hell,” York said quietly. “Is this where you guys have been going?” he asked North.

“Sometimes,” North said.

“Asshole likes the woods,” South added. “God only knows why, it’s boring as fuck out here.”

Maine was heading for the door Carolina sat by and she pulled her hand from York’s to shove him over. The middle seat was large but when Maine climbed in, she still ended up pressed against York’s side, his arm slung over her shoulders. She shot him a look and he moved his arm to rest on the back of the seat instead. “Hey, Maine,” Carolina said, looking from York to him.

He grunted. “ ‘Lina.”

“What the fuck are you doing, comin’ out here alone?” South said. She started the van and pulled down the road. “If you had died, how much you wanna bet Carolina here would have punched my face in?”

“South - ” Carolina started.

“Needed to get away from you,” Maine growled. He planted one foot on the back of South’s seat, pushing it forward slightly.

South twisted around instantly. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Don’t be a jackass! You sit around glaring at everyone and _you_ need to get away from _me?”_

“South, watch the road!” North said loudly. He reached over to take hold of the wheel while his sister yelled at Maine - all Maine did glare back silently.

Carolina sighed, crossed her arms over her chest, and tried to relax into the seat of the van. They had to get far away and fast, before more of those strange black-suited men showed up to attack them again. South was pushing the van to speed down the roads and she did turn back around to face the road but the anger contorting her face wasn’t making Carolina trust in her ability not to crash the car.

“This’ll be a fun ride,” York said quietly. “Nothin’ like yelling to bring us together, right?”

She shoved her elbow into his side. “Shut up, York.”

The call came in ten minutes later.

***

Felix was starving. He sat with the rifle in his lap, hands laid possessively over it, barrel pointed in Wash’s direction. The humvee was still speeding down the highway, trailing after CT on his bike. He watched her through the windshield, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. Wash didn’t speak, didn’t even seem bothered by the gun trained on him. Felix didn’t speak either, for once annoyed beyond words. This whole situation was ridiculous, totally full of shit, and he had done nothing to stop them from shoving him around.

That’s what bothered him the most. He was badass, he could fight anyone and kill almost anyone (exception to Texas, because that woman was scary mean). Felix dodged zombies for a fucking living, murdering anything that was infected - from humans to bears to fucking lions. There was no one as quick and deadly with knives as he was - he was pretty sure, anyway. And he hadn’t even lifted a finger. He had let Wash lead him to this goddamn humvee.

Like it was no big deal.

As if Felix could not overpower the guy in seconds.

He huffed angrily, shifted in the seat, stomach growling. For fuck’s sake, Wash wasn’t even armed. All the guns were in the backseat of the humvee, and Felix knew that because he had turned around to see the rest of the vehicle and it was a mess. Guns and boxes and magazines everywhere. Blankets and extra clothing. Huge cases of water. Sealed containers covering the seats and littering the floor. Hardly any of it was organized. He had told Wash that he and CT were messy and Wash had ignored him. Like an asshole.

Actually, Washington seemed pretty deadset on not paying Felix any attention. That was annoying too. Felix could usually get a rise out of someone and right now he figured pissing off Wash would be a good thing. That whole ‘misery loves company’ bullshit.

He said, “What do you guys have to eat?” And when Wash didn’t immediately answer, “See, I’m pretty fuckin’ hungry. I don’t know how long I was asleep, but I’m willing to bet it was a long time. I hadn’t slept for, like, thirty-seven hours, easy. You can understand why I’m a little hungry, right, Washington?”

Wash glanced at him for a split second.

Felix smirked. “Yeah, I thought so. Was it the food talk or the, uh… Washington thing?”

Wash’s hands tightened on the humvee’s wheel.

Felix shifted again, bringing one leg into the seat and turning until his back pressed against the door. He raised the rifle to his eyes, hands no where near the trigger. His stomach growled again, loudly. “C’mon, Washington. Let’s play a game. Pass the time. Like… how many times do you think i could shoot this gun before you move? Make a guess, _Washington.”_

Wash frowned. He glanced over at him again, lingering for a few seconds. “Put the gun down,” he said. “before you hurt yourself.”

Felix dropped the gun into his lap, placing one hand over his heart and sighing dramatically. “You wound me, Washington.”

“And stop that.”

“Stop what?”

He didn’t answer, focusing on the road.

“Are you gonna shut me out? Again? Didn’t know you were so childish, Washington.”

No answer.

“Man, you’re no fun. And we were just getting started, too.” He stared out the windshield for a few seconds, watching CT take a left at an intersection. The rifle slid off his lap as Wash turned to follow her and he let it fall to the floor ofnthe humvee with a clatter. Washington was boring. He was starving and his anger hadn’t been abated even a little bit. He sat there for a few seconds before deciding that, y’know what, it wasn’t worth it. Sitting here was getting him nothing and there was no way in hell Felix was going to eat one more piece of fucking jerky.

So he pulled himself over the humvee seat, crawling into the back of it.

Wash nearly slammed on the brakes, turning his head to follow Felix’s movements. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked. He sounded angry - and confused.

“Getting food,” Felix answered. “Since you wouldn’t tell me what you have, figured I’d look for myself.” He shoved guns aside to make room, magazines falling to the floor. The first container he opened had military rations in it, and Felix made a face before tossing it over his shoulder. Wash made a noise, and Felix looked back at him to catch Wash’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He was looking from the road to Felix, back and forth, quick glances at each. Felix grinned.

“Don’t throw our food,” Wash spat. “We kind of need it.”

“It kind of looks terrible.” Felix cracked open another container, squinting inside it. More rations. The third one held a series of steel thermos and he nudged one. Seemed full. He pulled it out and opened it, sniffing. “Is this soup…?”

“...Yes.”

“Ugh. Cold soup.”

“Are you always this picky?”

Felix ignored him and tipped the thermos to his lips anyway. Cold soup poured into his mouth and he made a face even while swallowing it. Disgusting. Worse than cold coffee by a long shot. He emptied the whole thing, put it back, and pulled out a second one. Wash told him to stop it, don’t waste all of their food, and Felix pointedly ignored him to drain the entirety of that one as well. He opened another container of food while he did, shifting aside bags of dried meat to pull out something that was sealed in a steel bowl. “What the hell is this?” he asked.

“Don’t eat that,” Wash said in response.

Felix looked up, considered how serious he sounded, and then started to heave himself back into the front seat, steel container in his hands. He sat with his back against the door again, one leg resting on his pack on the floor. The other he laid across the gap between them, pressing it into the edge of Wash’s seat. He looked at Wash when he popped the lid off, saw the wave of irritation pass over the other man, and smirked. “You want some food, Washington?” he asked. In the bowl was some kind of meat, he knew that instantly. “Oh, shit, this actually looks good.”

Wash said, “It’s what we had for lunch,” and Felix could hear the hesitation in his voice. Like food was some valuable information. “You slept through it, so I was going to keep it.”

“Can’t believe you assholes didn’t wake me up for lunch,” Felix grumbled. He fished a piece of meat out of the bowl with his gloved fingers and bit into it. Rabbit. A bit dry, nothing like how he and Locus could cook it. He was silent while eating, but once he locked the lid back on and dropped it on the floor next to his pack, Felix said, “Why won’t you talk to me, Washington?”

Wash sighed, so annoyed that Felix could see the tension building in his shoulders. Guy needed to relax. “Just shut up.”

“But, Washington.”

Wash’s gaze flicked back to him.

Felix tilted his head. There was a lot of suspicion to that look. He was silent for a few seconds before leaning forward. “Are your eyes blue or grey, Washington?” he asked casually. He spoke over Wash’s surprised noise. “ ‘Cause I really can’t tell from this distance. I wanna say blue, but what do I know.”

When Wash spoke, it was strained. “What?”

“I guess I could just get closer, I mean…” He trailed off then, ignoring Wash looking at him, and threw his legs back to the front. An old road sign had flashed by, the letters on it barely readable, but he thought that, maybe… Felix dug his phone out of his pocket, pulling up the GPS as the humvee barreled down the road past broken down homes. They had been passing houses for a while now, widespread at first, closer together now. There was even a neighborhood, gated, zombies milling around inside of it. Felix looked at the road ahead, at the upcoming intersection, and said, “Stop the car.”

“Are you insane?” Wash didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. The noise of the humvee passing by homes drew more zombies out - a small number, but all of them turned their heads to follow the car. “Is that - Do you have a _phone?”_

Up ahead, CT had taken a right turn at the next intersection, avoiding an overpass. “Will you just stop the goddamn car?” Felix snapped.

Wash eased on the brakes, slowing, and Felix threw open the door before it stopped. He grabbed the rifle at his feet, jumped out, and slammed the door on Wash asking him exactly what the fuck he was doing. His phone was still in his hand, GPS marker blinking steadily at their exact location. This - this shitty little place they were rolling up into - this was were he was supposed to meet Locus. Kind of included Tex now, he assumed, but this was the place. He thought that maybe he was supposed to be relieved, but all he felt was more… apprehension, almost. He was running up to the overpass, ignoring the zombies that edged slowly toward the road.

The trees ended as he stepped onto it, and a town unfolded below him. The overpass hadn’t been built over an interstate, just a road that carved through the town. Buildings covered with overgrown grass and weaving vines started a little to his left, farther to the right. Broken down, rusted cars littered the overpass and the streets below. Felix stopped by one of them, staring down, anger and dread spreading through him in tandem.

Zombies.

Fucking walking, groaning assholes of the world.

And they were everywhere. Shambling between buildings, moving between old cars still parked in the streets. Not a thing down there was actually living, just mindless fucking dead assholes.

Felix cursed, almost a shout, and kicked the nearest car as hard as he could. The headlight shattered underneath his foot. A breeze drifted through as he stood there in broken glass, glaring at nothing and clenching the phone in his hands so hard it bit through the gloves. Vaguely, he was aware of Wash standing nearby. He fought the shiver that crept up his spine with the wind, turning back to the zombies below and raising his phone. His hands were shaking, he noticed. Anger coursed through him so fast it was actually making him shake.

How fucking pathetic.

Felix took a picture.

Wash said, slowly, quietly, “Felix… What are you doing?”

“Supposed to meet someone,” he answered, sending the picture to Locus as he talked. He paused long enough to send a message, telling Locus that he didn’t think this was gonna happen and, oh yeah, a phone call would be nice because he had some important things to talk about. Like Wash standing beside him and CT on Tex’s bike, wherever the fuck she was. And, to a lesser extent, maybe Felix just wanted reassurance that the universe as a whole had not fucked him over. _Asshole better be alive_ , he thought. He watched the screen, waiting for it to send before looking back at Wash. “Can’t do that now,” he said, throwing one arm out to gesture at the zombies below them. “because the entire goddamn world has decided it hates me. I mean, captured by you? That’s so pathetic I want to punch myself in the face - or you, hitting you might be better. Your fucking friend took my bike, and now…”

 _Now I can’t find Locus_ , was the rest of that sentence.

Felix bit his tongue to stop himself from saying it. He stopped talking with a wordless, strangled growl and kicked the car again. Left a dent. Rust fell from it as he put his foot back on the ground. Getting pissed off because his rendezvous with Locus was ruined by goddamn zombies covering the place was fine. There was no way he could stay here and wait, not with Wash hovering around him, not with CT riding off with Tex’s bike - hell, even if he had the bike, he couldn’t stay here. No way he could linger around and wait for Locus to show up and -

The point was, he refused to say any of it. Washington was a stranger, an asshole with a humvee and too many guns, and the last thing Felix was going to do was show anything even resembling a weakness.

He looked at the zombies, at the car beside him, at Wash. There was a rifle slung over one of Wash’s shoulders, the look on his face guarded and hard to decipher. He said, “We need to go, Felix. I don’t know how far ahead CT is. We have to catch up to her.”

Felix’s phone vibrated in his hand and he turned his back on the zombies, staring in the opposite direction as he answered. “We’re fucked,” he said flatly, pushing all his anger to the background. Picking fights with Locus over the phone was only fun when he wasn’t already pissed off.

“We can meet somewhere else,” Locus said. He actually sounded amused and that just shot another spike of anger in Felix’s gut. He made a strained noise, and Locus said, “You’re actually mad about this, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you,” Felix snarled. “Some shit happened, okay? This isn’t helping, these fucking zombies always popping up to ruin my fucking life - ”

Locus sighed.

Wash said Felix’s name quietly.

“You were supposed to be here,” Felix continued quietly. His eyes closed and he brought a hand to his temples, sighing. “You’re supposed to have my van, and we’re supposed to leave.”

“There’s other places to meet. Felix, you’re being irrational.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Are you sure?”

Felix bit back a string of curses, exhaling sharply. Wash’s hand landed on his arm, locking down tightly, and Felix glared his way. “Of course I’m sure. You’re not on your own out here - for god’s sake, Locus. I didn’t sleep one night. This shit is terrible.”

Locus hummed quietly and Felix cursed himself. Don’t admit stupid bullshit to Locus was, like, easily rule one. “You didn’t sleep? Why didn’t you sleep?”

 _Nightmares._ “Doesn’t fuckin matter, the point stands.”

“Stop whining,” Locus said.

“I’m not whining!” Felix snapped.

Wash pulled at his arm forcefully and Felix stumbled a couple of steps in his direction. “Felix,” Wash said, quiet and urging - and matching the alarm in his eyes perfectly. “We need to go. Now.”

Felix frowned, pulled his arm out of Wash’s grip - for fuck’s sake, the guy was strong. Stronger than he looked by far. He glanced behind Wash, saw nothing, and then behind himself. He sighed. Yep, of course - fucking zombies. At least five of them, shuffling between cars to reach them. “Hey, Locus? Call me tonight.”

“You said you need to talk.”

“Later, alright?” He backed away as he talked, walking into Washington and stopping then. “Don’t act like this is some huge inconvenience, okay? I haven’t heard from you in days anyway.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wash raising the gun in his hands and Felix shot a hand out to clamp down on the barrel. He locked eyes with Wash, listening to Locus talk about how he had to drive, that Texas pulled first watch again and he needed to sleep when they stopped for the night. Felix shook his head at Wash, forcing him to lower the gun. “Oh, fuck Texas. She’s a bitch, make her take second watch. Sorry you lose your precious beauty sleep, but if you can text me for hours, you can fucking call,” he snapped to Locus before ending the call and elbowing Wash.

“What was that for?”

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Felix hissed. “Oh, let’s shoot a small group of zombies and alert the horde behind us to our position! Do you think at all?”

Wash glared at him.

Felix glared back.

He slid his phone in his pocket and pulled a knife from his side. “Here.” He held the hilt out for Wash to take before sliding the blade from his other side. “You know how to use a knife, don’t you?” He started forward without waiting for Wash’s answer, striding through the cars to take the first zombie by the head and slam the knife into its skull. Killing zombies was somehow so very cathartic.  He yanked the knife out of its skull and moved on; Wash was close by, stabbing zombies and retreating quickly. He wasn’t wearing gloves, Felix noticed, but he moved fast enough to avoid the blood.

When all the zombies lay dead at their feet, Felix followed Wash back across the overpass. The zombies from the houses were closer by now and when Wash broke into a run, Felix did too. “You are going to have to answer questions,” Wash said as they climbed into the humvee.

Felix frowned. “About what?”

Wash started the vehicle, starting forward and hitting a zombie in the chest. “Your phone, for starters. Why the hell you know my name - why the fuck you said ‘Texas’. Do you know Texas?”

“Oh.” The humvee sped forward, tossing the zombie on its hood to the ground and rolling over it. Felix had said Tex’s name, hadn’t he? Great. “Well… I know your name because of Texas,” he said. A lot of the anger from earlier had left him with each zombie he killed. It was enough that he could settle back in the humvee’s seat and actually talk without wanting to punch Wash’s head off. “That answers something, doesn’t it?”

“How do you know Texas?”

“It’s a long story.”

He avoided actually answering Wash’s questions after that, dodging the more complicated ones. After a while, Wash gave up and they fell into silence. Felix twisted around and dug through the backseat until he found a rag of some kind, yanking it forward to clean the blood off his knife. Wash handed over the one he had used, and Felix cleaned that one too, sliding the knives in his belt again.

They found CT five minutes down the road. She was speeding back in their direction and pulled to a stop by Felix’s door. He rolled down the window halfway and smiled. “Hey,” he said casually.

“Where the hell have you two been?” CT asked.

“Made a pit stop,” Wash said. “His idea.”

“...What?”

Felix dropped the rag out the humvee window. The zombie blood stood out in the fading sunlight. “Lead on, lady,” he said. “We’re all good. No one’s hurt. Nothing bad happened.”

He had the feeling that CT was giving him one hell of a judgmental look behind that helmet.

“When do I get my bike back, by the way?”

“Getting the feeling that’s not your bike,” Wash muttered.

Felix turned his head to look at Wash. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Wash actually looked a little amused. “It means that you know Texas, and that I know that Texas had a black motorcycle.”

Felix frowned, stuck his tongue out, and Wash sighed.

“You are _actually_ that immature,” Wash said. “I can’t believe it.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Guys!” Their attention snapped back to CT as she revved the bike. “I found a place for us to stay for the night. Old farmhouse. You two can help me clear out the zombies and then we can have a nice talk about how the hell Felix knows Texas.”

Felix rolled the window back up. Tonight was going to suck, a lot. He wondered how many half-truths he could feed these two. Half-truths were always better than whole lies, less chances of fucking up later. Wash drove after CT, silent, only speaking when he turned down a driveway that was barely recognizable as a road. “Give me a knife,” Wash said. He held a hand toward Felix, palm up.

“Put some gloves on and maybe,” Felix answered. “I’m not taking care of you if you get zombie blood caught under your nails.”

“Felix, give me a knife.”

“No.” He shoved the door open as the humvee stopped, leaving Wash to sigh and pick up several guns. Felix took the pistol on his hip, the knives, and the rifle.

The farmhouse that CT had found wasn’t all that large. It might have been two stories at some point in the past, but the roof had collapsed over the left side. Zombies crawled out of the woods - actually crawled, several didn’t seem to have legs. CT was already shooting those down from a distance. Wash headed to the house, shooting anything that moved in the head. He had pretty good aim. Felix stood by the humvee, watching Wash walk and kill steadily.

Maybe - just a little - Wash had the possibility of being slightly dangerous.

Something moaned near him and Felix raised his pistol, glancing over at the nearest zombie. Half-rotten, stumbling on a leg so broken that the bone was peeking through the skin. Felix rolled his eyes and shot it between the eyes. When he looked back at Wash, CT was handing the guy one of her blades. Her knives were longer than Felix’s own, less chance for blood to splatter on someone’s hands.

Felix started forward, walking at a casual pace and watching as Wash shoved the knife through a zombie’s skull. Definitely maybe slightly dangerous.

That night, Felix sat further from the fire than the other two, telling them part of the story about how he met Texas while they ate. How she ended up killing zombies at the same place where he and Locus had tagged a small group for Control to pick up and how they had helped her kill the damn things. He left out the part about what he had actually been doing, how Locus had stopped him from tagging Texas, and how they had eaten dinner with her that night. He did tell them that she was a cold-hearted bitch to the extreme and that she hadn’t bothered to actually say more than three words at once until the third time they met.

Washington asked about Locus and Felix deferred answering him by sneaking off to piss and call Locus. He sat on the windowsill of a broken window while he talked, watching the sun set and feeling the cold creep in. Locus got the full story of Wash and CT, and how Felix’s stupid habit of never shutting the fuck up had gotten him into this mess - Locus’s words, not his.

What Felix said was, “All I did was say I knew Kimball, and the fuckin’ girl just pushed me off the bike - why are all the women we meet so goddamn strong? What is going on out here?”

And Locus had said, “Maybe you should learn to shut up. You have a habit of talking too much, and it gets you in trouble.”

Felix had been tempted to end the call then just to prove that he could shut up when he wanted to, but talking to Locus sounded like a better deal. He spent over two hours just sitting there, talking much more than Locus. They never did agree on anywhere else to meet. Locus said he was going to talk to Texas about what Felix had gotten himself into and that was it. When he finally went back to the fire, he was given the first watch. Which was good because he wasn’t tired enough to sleep and he didn’t feel like answering anymore questions, specifically why the fuck he had a working phone. He had deflected answering that with a shrug, saying it was “hooked up with techno babble bullshit”.

They kept moving after that, really only stopping to eat and it was a pattern that started to remind Felix of when he and Locus had sent off with Tex. God, it couldn’t have been but one week ago, but it just felt far too long. On the third day, CT refilled the bike and the humvee’s gas tanks, and then she handed the bike back over to Felix. She also told him that since he knew where Kimball’s camp was, he was in the lead.

It felt like they were starting to trust him. Just a little bit.

Felix was alright with that. The food they had was better than his hastily made stews and jerky, and three people together was infinitely better than being on his own. So he led them, driving ahead and making sure not to go too fast. The humvee was fast, but not as fast as this bike and if he left them behind, he was sure to end up trapped in that thing with Wash for company again.

Driving let him clear his head, too. With no one to talk to and no lies and half-truths to keep track of, he didn’t really have to think at all. Just concentrate on not flipping the bike. And when he passed zombies, he could pull the knife from his belt, driving the blade through their skull and back out and only slowing  down a little to do it. It was great. Made him miss his own bike, though. Tex’s was larger, took more effort to steer around sharp curves. But the effect was still the same - speeding down roads, past broken houses, without having to worry too much about anything - it was good.

Traveling with Wash and CT, though, was nothing like being with Locus. Not even close. Felix sat a few feet from the fire, away from the two of them. He took first watch every night just to sit and talk quietly to Locus. It was never about anything important; he was pretty sure Locus was steering him away from anything too serious and he wanted to ask about that - but he always forgot, lost in stupid conversations. Most of what they talked about was what they were going to do when this was over. Felix wanted to see the world without a job in the mix. “Nah, it’d just be us,” he said one night. “No jobs, no contracts, nothing. We could go to Europe.”

“Europe,” Locus repeated. “We’ve been to Europe.”

“Not on our own. Not without a job. That’s the important thing, try and keep up.”

By the fourth night, he was sure that Locus was getting tired of these long phone calls, but Felix wanted to talk to someone he knew, someone he was positive wouldn’t kill him in his sleep. Locus would at least have the decency to wake Felix up for his death.

Every night, Felix fell asleep leaning against a wall if they found a building to stay in; he slept against trees or rocks or the humvee if they hadn’t. Having something solid against his back was a comfort. No one could sneak up on him if he was pressed against something. It made his back ache terribly when he woke, and he spent a few minutes every morning stretching, pressing his hands into the small of his back and grunting. Some mornings it refused to pop and he felt the tension sitting stiff on his spine.

Every night, Felix slept with a gun in his lap. The cold took hold of him at nightfall, didn’t really leave in daylight, and he spent pretty much every day in a chill. The nights might be warmer if he’d sleep next to the fire, where Wash and CT slept under blankets, close enough that they can reach out to one another if something happens.

The fifth night, they were outside of Cheyenne, the city rising in the east. He never knew how large a city Cheyenne was, but when the light was failing, he could see the city stretching out below them. Locus didn’t call that night and he didn’t answer when Felix called him, so Felix fell asleep in the middle of his watch, shivering with the humvee pressing into his back.

He woke up at footsteps stopping by his side, a blanket falling over his legs. Felix snapped his eyes open and stared up. The moon was overhead, half-full, and Wash was barely lit by it. Felix grumbled something that might have been words and Wash knelt down beside him. “You can sleep by the fire, you know,” Wash said quietly. “If we were going to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

“What’s with the blanket?” Felix muttered.

Wash didn’t answer right away. He glanced at their dying fire before sitting down in the dirt beside Felix. “It’s cold,” he said. “Keep it. We’ve got enough to spare.”

Felix watched him out of the corner of his eye before he set his gun between them and pulled the blanket up over his arms. It wasn’t the thickest blanket, air still moved easily through it, but goddamn having a blanket again felt like a fucking miracle. He fell asleep again leaning against Wash, knife in his hand in place of the rifle.

The sun had barely risen when Wash nudged him harshly. “Get up,” Wash said quietly. “I have to wake up Connie.”

They ate the leftovers from dinner for breakfast, and CT glanced at the blanket around Felix’s shoulders. She didn’t say anything besides telling him to eat faster so they could get moving. Felix flicked her off casually, eating slower on purpose.  

When they stopped for lunch, Cheyenne was still lying below them. It was like they had hardly moved at all. CT shot down birds to eat. Washington chopped wood for a fire. And Felix sat on an overturned tree, turning a knife over and over between his fingers, watching Wash work. It was still cold - they were high enough in the mountains that every day had a chill to it - so Wash kept his jacket on. Disappointing, seeing as Felix knew the man had some muscles. Then Wash leaned over to pick up another log to chop in half and Felix decided that the jacket wasn’t such a bad thing because the pants tightened over Wash’s ass as he moved.

And Wash, as it turned out, had one hell of an ass.

Felix found himself wondering exactly how built Washington was, what he looked like without an unflattering zombie suit covering him. Like, completely naked. Pinned to a bed and - yeah, okay, Felix’s pants were getting tight. Fuckin’ great.

Wash straightened up and turned to look at him and Felix felt a flash of heat blossom across his cheeks. He waved with the hand holding the knife. “What are you doing?” Wash asked. “Are you gonna help?”

Felix paused, opened his mouth, shut it again. His mind was blank. “Yeah… I got… I got nothin’.” He stood, sliding the knife back in his belt and turning to leave.

And right behind him stood CT, a couple of birds in one hand. She smiled. Like she knew.

“Don’t even,” Felix started, speaking low enough that it wouldn’t carry to Wash.

“I didn’t say anything,” she said, fighting back a grin.

“I can appreciate a good lookin’ guy, all right?”

She snorted. “You can appreciate Wash’s ass, you mean.”

He frowned.

She grinned.

Behind them, Wash said, “What are you two doing? What’s going on?”

CT called, “Nothing, Wash.”

“But - ”

“Just start the fire, all right?” She started forward, patting Felix on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself,” she said quietly, laughing.

Felix glared at her, made a face at her back. Wash was throwing wood together for a fire, and CT joined him shortly. There wasn’t a lot of wood, wouldn’t make a big fire, but it would be enough. Felix left them to it. He went far enough away that neither of them would find him masturbating in the forest, groping himself to half-formed fantasies.

When he sat down at the fire, Wash was cooking. CT glanced at him, smirked, and said nothing. The look she gave him was enough, no need for words. Just another thing for Felix to pretend never happened. He never fell asleep leaning against Wash’s shoulder, never stared at the guy, never jerked off in the woods.

He was glad when they left and he could speed off on the bike again. Put some space between himself and CT’s amused looks, between Wash and the fact that apparently Felix couldn’t spend two weeks on his own without wanting to fuck people he barely knew.

A day later, near nightfall, Felix pulled to a sudden stop. He was leading the humvee through a small town nestled on the side of a mountain. It was empty, not a damn thing moving through it - except Felix had seen something. A flash of movement in an alleyway, barely there. He would have ignored it if he hadn’t thought it looked remarkably like a person. Felix got off the bike, slinging the rifle on his bike to his front.

The humvee stopped beside him and the window rolled down. “Felix,” CT said. “What’s going on?”

“Just… wait here,” he said, not looking. He was staring into the alleyway, raising the gun up. “I gotta go check something out.” The town was quiet, not even the wind was blowing anymore. Felix moved into the alleyway, finger hovering over the trigger.

It was empty - of course it was, nothing but old dumpsters. There wasn’t even garbage. Anything that had been left when the town was abandoned had long since blown away or turned to dust. Dirt covered everything. Nothing moved. Felix had the distinct feeling that he was looking for something that didn’t exist. Still… It kind of felt like he was being watched. He turned slowly, always with the gun pointed forward, turning and peering at the dirty windows of the building next door.

Nothing.

He stopped at the end of the alleyway, looking through the old fence that separated it from the next street. Still nothing. He lowered the gun to his side, ready to admit defeat and go back to driving. He took two steps back when a zombie stumbled through a side door three inches away from him. There wasn’t even a second to react before it snagged Felix with both hands.

The helmet saved his life then, the damn zombie trying to chew through the thick visor. Felix stumbled back, trying to push the damned thing back. It was heavy, fresh - a fresh zombie. In the middle of an empty town.

It still had enough strength left to push Felix over, sending him to the ground. It hurt, slamming into the ground with the rifle digging into his side, and he cursed. The zombie had to weigh at least 200 pounds, more muscle than fat, and it fell on top of him with all its gnashing and wild movements. Felix cursed, bringing one foot up into the dead thing’s gut, pushing. It lifted, but barely. The hands pulled out of his jacket and were instantly scrambling back at him, scraping at the visor’s surface. “Get off me,” Felix growled. “You fat fucker.”

And then, over its hungry noises, Felix heard answering moans. The type that only come into play when zombies have found fresh, living meat.

He fought off the answering surge of panic, pushing the zombie on top of him and getting nowhere. The suit he wore may have been issued as zombie protection, but if he was caught on his back by more than one zombie, it wouldn’t do a bit of help. He’d die just the same as someone with no protection at all.

He’d die on his back, screaming as dead fingers ripped the suit open and ate him alive.

Humiliating.

The zombie on top of him snapped its teeth together inches from Felix’s arm and he actually felt the teeth ripping into his skin. There was no fighting panic anymore, because the zombie moans were getting louder and Felix’s panic morphed instantly to fear.

The zombie was kicked off of him so sudden that Felix’s hands were shoving against it one second and then nothing the next. CT vaulted over him - and he realized that she had fucking kicked a 200 pound zombie off his chest. He watched her bring a knife over her head and slam it into the zombie’s skull. “I... I thought I said wait…!” he said weakly.

Gunfire was his answer, and he turned his head to look at Wash, standing just inches from his shoulder. “You didn’t look like you were doing too well,” Wash said.

CT offered him a hand, gloved and specked with blood. Felix considered rejecting the offer but fear was still pumping through his bloodstream so he took her hand, let her pull him to his feet. “Get back to the vehicles,” she said. “We’re getting out of here before shit gets worse.” She led them back, slipping the bloody knife back in its sheath. At the end of the alleyway, she stopped. Cursed. And took a few steps back slowly.

Wash stopped when she did, looking over his shoulder at the alley behind them. “Connie?” he said quietly. “What’s up?”

Zombies were coming out of the building behind them, all of them fresh. The blood on one of the women was still dripping down her arms. Felix’s blood turned cold; he had a pretty good idea what had happened here, to these people.

“There’s more over here,” CT said quietly. She had backed up to where they stood, knife in one hand, gun in the other. “We have to fight."

“No,” Felix said instantly. He looked at the zombies in front of them, and shook his head. “No... No, we’re not.”

“Do you have a better idea?” CT hissed.

Felix answered by raising his gun and slamming the barrel into the nearest window of the building beside him, the one that didn’t have zombies coming out of it. He yanked CT by the arm, tossing her toward the window. “Get in,” he snapped. “I am not doing another goddamn suicide charge to save more fuckin’ idiots.”

“Suicide charge?” Wash repeated.

“Another?” CT added.

“Just get in the fuckin’ building,” Felix said.

She sighed, sliding the knife back into its sheath again to grab the broken glass with one hand. Felix let go of his gun to grab her by the waist and hoist her up - instinct, she was just so small… She gave him a weird look, but didn’t say anything. He waited until she dropped off the other side before turning to Wash.

Washington had his gun raised still, trained on the zombies advancing quickly down the alley. He fired before Felix could stop him and two zombies fell. The sounds of the dead hitting the pavement coincided with Felix’s cursing. He slammed a hand onto Wash’s own, pushing against him, willing him to lower the fuckng gun. “Don’t fire,” he said quietly. “Seriously - no more, okay?”

Wash stared at him, a mixed look of outrage and confusion.

Felix looked back down the alleyway, and through the chain-link fence, he spotted four people striding confidently in their direction. Three women, one man, all in black. Control’s forces. He cursed. “Oh, goddammit.” He started to say something and Wash shoved him back against the window. Shards of glass dug into the jacket, stopping just short of cutting Felix’s back to shreds. “Wash, what the fuck?”

“Get inside.” Wash’s voice was colder than he had ever heard it, his face void of any emotion. Just pure hard-lined determination. “Now, Felix.” He fired then, into the zombies, taking out two more that were getting too close. Then just as easily, Wash turned his gun on the people that stood on the other side of the fence and opened fire.

Felix stared. He felt hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him over - fucking CT. She pulled him straight into the window, throwing him on his ass on the floor of the building. And then she leaned out and stretched for Wash. Her reach was short by a couple of inches and Felix vaulted back to his feet, braced one foot on the windowsill, and snagged Wash by his bicep. He pulled, Wash stumbled over, and then CT got his other arm and left him no choice but to climb inside with them.

Felix looked at the two of them blankly. “What the fuck was that…?” he asked quietly. Zombie moans drifted in through the window. The ones from the alleyway entrance, he would bet. Wash had decimated the other ones. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

“I’m trying to save us,” Wash said.

“From what? You made shit worse!”

“How did I make this worse?”

“Firing your gun is a good start.”

CT planted a hand on each of their chests, snapping, “Both of you shut up!” She pulled her hand from Wash and shoved Felix back a few steps. “Those people are bad news,” she said. “We’ve seen them before, they tried to take Wash somewhere.”

She was still talking, but Felix didn’t listen because that… that made sense. Control had to have found Wash somewhere, detained him for testing - whatever the fuck they did, they were going to use Wash as a test subject. No wonder the guy wanted to kill them on sight. Felix didn’t know what happened once Control had their subjects but the fact that they were actually called ‘subjects’ meant it was bad.

“Yeah, okay!” Felix said, cutting CT off. He threw his hands in the air, sighing. “Shit happened. Got it. Look, just… please wait here. Like actually wait here.”

“What are you talking about?” CT said. “We’re getting the fuck out of here!”

Felix shook his head, worrying at his lip behind the helmet. This was going to be bad. Why were all of his ideas so bad lately? He walked to the window, sliding one leg over the broken glass. “I can fix this, okay? Trust me.” He slid out the window and as his feet hit the ground, one of them grasped his arm. He looked back, at Wash staring him down from less than a foot, at CT staring at him like she couldn’t believe what he was doing.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Wash said.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Felix told him, light and casual. He pulled his arm from Wash, and took a couple of steps away. “Calm down. I’ll be fine. You can shoot the zombies if you wanna help - but stay there or I will fucking kill you.”

Wash looked like he wanted to argue. What he said was, “...Did you just call me ‘sweetheart’?”

Felix ignored him, spinning on his heels toward the end of the alleyway. He walked over the dead zombies that littered the ground, past the open door they had come from. All of them, all four of Control’s black-suited bastard minions, had their guns raised, following his movements. The gun over his shoulder banged into his hip as he walked. With less than a foot between him and the fence, Felix started talking. “You guys,” he said. “must be out of your minds.” He pulled the helmet off and dropped it the ground, grinning at the group in front of him.

One of them muttered, “Oh, fuck me…”

All of them lowered their guns.

Felix said, “How pissed would Control be if you fucking morons killed me? Better yet - how long do you think it would take for Locus to find out? ‘Cause I’m about… twenty percent sure you’d all die a violent death.”

The man said, “Only twenty?” He sounded vaguely familiar but Felix couldn’t place it at all.

“Depends on how his day’s going when he gets the news,” Felix said. “Do I know you?”

The man reached up, removing his own helmet. His face was more familiar than his voice but it wasn’t until he spoke again that Felix remembered him. “It’s good that you’re alive. Wyoming wanted us to bring you back - if it was you on that bike, anyway.”

“Oh, no,” Felix said. “Xavier, right? You’re one of Wyoming’s men.” One of the men he had met all those days ago, the one that had given him cooking supplies and the only one that hadn’t been a major dick.

He nodded.

“...Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this marks the point where the chapters start getting longer


	9. when i look out it's only for me

Wyoming didn’t look any different. Still dressed in white, still with that ridiculous moustache - perfectly groomed though. He had set up a base in one of the empty buildings, just one street over from where Felix had left Wash and CT. It was just some shitty building, empty and barren, with stone walls and dirty windows. There were two tables, one covered with papers and photographs, the other with food and dishes. Two floodlights, just like the last time, stood by each table. A third stood by the doorway, doing nothing but blinding Felix while he was marched through the front door.

There was a sniper rifle slung over Wyoming’s back. It was the first thing Felix noticed about the guy - that fucking gun. Wyoming was facing the door, sure, his eyes on the man that his minions had brought to him. Didn’t matter; Felix’s eyes went straight to the rifle. That was a threat if he had ever seen one. A bad attempt at disguising one, but still a threat. Keep the weapon upfront, where anyone can see it, but don’t hold it in your hands.

If it was anyone else, Felix would think a sniper rifle was a stupid choice to carry around. Wyoming, though… that fucker could probably shoot him down with it before Felix could even raise his own weapon. Of course, Felix’s guns had been seized by two of the girls in black. One of them had been reluctant to even take charge of him, had said that Control had hired him for a reason and they really shouldn’t be taking his weapons.

Felix liked that girl.

He hated the other two, the two who had snatched the rifle off of his shoulder and the pistol from his hip. The one who took his rifle had even reached to take his knives away until Xavier shook his head. So, he wasn’t totally defenseless. Just really, really outgunned.

In the shabby building, Felix stood a few feet in front of Wyoming. Two of Control’s forces flanked him on  either side. The woman with his rifle had actually exchanged her gun for his, and now pointed it casually in the direction of his knees. More unspoken threats.

Wyoming was standing by the table, smirking.  “Ah, good. He’s still alive.”

“Right here,” Felix said loudly. “You wanted to see me, you can fucking talk to me.”

“Watch your tone, hot shot,” the woman said quietly. “I’d hate for stray bullets to shatter your kneecaps.” She spoke like she was one second away from laughing, smug and self-assured.

It was bullshit, having to listen to her talk like that to him of all people. Annoying. Felix took a deep breath, controlling the urge to retort, to see if she really had to the guts to fire at him. The last time he met Wyoming, he had killed one man and injured another, but he had had the element of surprise then. He had nothing now.

“It’s alright,” Wyoming said. He motioned for them to lower their weapons and all four obeyed without hesitation. “Felix. Good to see you, mate. I really did think you would be dead before we found you again.”

“Why? I’m great at living. Pretty hard to kill, it turns out.”

Wyoming said, “You’ve lost your partner. A pity, really. ”

Felix had a split second to decide how he wanted this to go. Guns at his back, smug asshole in front of him. “Didn’t know I had a partner,” he said. He kept his eyes fixed on Wyoming, kept the same irritated expression he had when the other man first spoke. “How do you lose something you don’t have?”

The woman with his rifle snorted. “You’re really going to try and lie to us?”

“Shut up and go outside,” Wyoming told her. “You’re worse than the last batch.”  To Felix, he said, “There’s no need to lie. You’re among friends here.”

Yeah, he doubted that. Sure, the last time he had met Wyoming all that had happened was dinner, free coffee, and bike service. If he looked at it like that, Felix wasn’t in much danger. If he took into account Wyoming’s arrogant smirk and the guns and the fact that Control’s forces were apparently ready to blast his fucking legs off - yeah, nope, not friends.

Felix didn’t trust Wyoming. Like, at all. Not that he really trusted anyone, kind of came with the job territory, but still.

The girl with his rifle huffed, shoved his gun into another black suited fuckup’s hands, and stomped outside to stand guard by the door. She grumbled under her breath while she left.

“I don’t have a partner,” Felix said. “You must be mistaken.”

Wyoming continued as if Felix hadn’t said a thing. “As your friend, I believe I’m looking out for your best interests. This partner of yours… what was his name? Something absolutely ridiculous.”

“Sir,” Xavier said from Felix’s right. “I’m pretty sure it was Locus.”

“Ah. That’s it.”

Felix rolled his eyes. If he didn’t know these were Control’s little cronies, he would have been impressed by that. “Haven’t seen him in ages,” he said with a shrug. “So, y’know… Not my partner. Not anymore.”

That smug look hadn’t left Wyoming’s face. If anything, it was worse now. “Of course he’s not. Are you going to try and tell me you haven’t found my good friend Washington either?”

Alright… That was a little more impressive than pulling Locus’s name out. He didn’t think he had said Wash’s name since they arrived here, and neither had CT. Felix didn’t answer straight away - an error, he knew it was a fucking error. Felix never hesitated, always fed people exactly what they wanted to hear. Talking was one of his skills. In the split second silence, Wyoming laughed. Quiet, mocking laughter.

Felix resisted the urge to punch Wyoming’s moustache off his face.

“Congrats,” he said, pushing sarcasm into his voice. “I found one of your guys. Do you want a prize?”

“Two,” Wyoming said.

“Sorry?”

“You have found two of them. The girl is Connecticut.”

Felix blinked. Never would have guessed that. “...Okay. Look, is this really all you dragged me out here for? To gloat that you know I’ve found two of these fucking specialists of yours? ‘Cause it’s kinda an old trick, and I’ve got other things to do.”

Wyoming glanced toward the open front door and somehow even that dripped arrogance. “Seems to be getting dark, mate. Your plans should be to set up somewhere for tonight. I’m afraid you can’t spend the night with myself, but that building you were in seems very sound.“

“I’m not staying here. I’m not staying anywhere near you.” Honestly, he couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly that was setting him off. Maybe it was the entire day. Maybe that heavy fucking zombie landing on him had pushed him to the point that everything was going to piss him off. Or - or, and this was the real kicker - maybe it was the fact that this fuck was standing in front of him, clearly talking as if he knew everything about Felix already.

Felix was not one to be played with like a toy. He didn’t appreciate being baited, strung along to do someone else’s bidding, and he certainly didn’t like being mocked. All of which he was certain Wyoming was doing, or trying to do, or whatever.

Felix said, “You can take that deal we made and forget it ever existed. Shove it up your ass, shove it up _his_ ass,” -here, he gestured to Xavier beside him- “I don’t care. I’m not doing this. I don’t work with fucking assholes.” Except for Locus, but that was totally different. “See, what’s gonna happen now is that I’m going to leave. I’m going to take my weapons, get my idiots out of that building back there, and then I’m going to leave this shitty little town before the urge to rip that obnoxious moustache off your face just becomes too much for me to ignore.”

He had enough self-control not to yell, but holy shit, Felix was annoyed. Pissed off. Seething with unabashed hatred that he didn’t even know what to do with. Sure, he’d been tense ever since he had made the decision to speak with the four from Control, but this was just…

Goddamn, Felix was having a bad day.

Wyoming wasn’t smirking anymore, didn’t even look amused. “You should stop while you’re ahead,” he said calmly.

Felix watched Wyoming’s hand land on the rifle on his back. Making a not-so-subtle threat even more obvious. “Aw, what’s wrong? Did I hit a nerve at some point?”

“Oh, not at all.” Wyoming moved his other hand, barely more than a flick of the wrist, and suddenly there was three guns pointed in Felix’s direction. “It’s just that once you become more of an annoyance than you’re worth, I kill you.”

Felix scoffed. “You can’t kill me,” he said. “I’m worth a lot.” He felt a gun barrel settle against his jaw and flicked his gaze to Xavier. “What the fuck is this? You’re one of Control’s guys, you _know_ who I am.”

“Sorry, Felix,” Xavier said coolly.

“Wyoming pays more,” one of the girls answered. “Less chance of dying on his job, too. Less suicidal.”

Wyoming was smirking again.

Felix wanted to shoot something, but his guns were with other people. His fingers itched nonetheless, twitching to grab onto something to end this fucker’s life. He said nothing. Didn’t move.

“You see, chap,” Wyoming said. "You and your partner are targets. I will find you. But if you help me, you get to live longer.”

Felix scowled. “Fuck off, you prick.”

In a flash, Felix was staring down the barrel of Wyoming’s rifle. He hadn’t even had time to take a step back; the gun pressed against his forehead and Felix froze. He was pissed, but not stupid. Surviving against all odds was kind of one of his selling points - but there was no way for him to maneuver out of this bullshit.

“You can leave,” Wyoming was saying. “You can take Washington and dear ‘CT’ with you. I expect them both to be at that camp - you know the one.”

“Kimball’s.”

Wyoming lowered the rifle and smiled again. “Good. Don’t disappoint me, Felix, I’d hate to kill you before it’s necessary.” He motioned for the others to lower their guns, ordered them to hand Felix his weapons back. “Take him back to his friends. Don’t let him walk alone.”

Before Felix passed over the threshold, Wyoming added, “Don’t make me have to kill your partner to control you.”

Felix couldn’t help himself from saying, “Like an two-bit assclown like you can kill Locus. You don’t even know where he is.”

“Oh, I don’t?”

Just the way he said it sent an unwanted chill down Felix’s spine.

He walked with two of Wyoming’s damn minions on either side, forcing himself to calm down. Someone like Wyoming couldn’t get the upper hand on Locus - hell, he had needed to take Felix’s guns to make sure Felix wasn’t a threat. By the time the four of them had led Felix to the rusty door in the fence, he had made the decision to call Locus anyway. Give an update on the whole thing, make sure he knew what the hell was going on.

People didn’t just threaten them, Felix thought as he picked his helmet back up from where he had left it. And no one got away with such blatant threats once they had been made. His hands tightened spasmodically at the edges of his helmet and he had to work harder than usual to bring a casual smile to his face.

Wyoming could threaten him all he liked. Felix was going to get the upper hand and he was going to shank the obnoxious fuck before letting Locus blow his brains out.

But neither Wash nor CT needed to know about any of this shit. _Play it cool_ _,_ he told himself. _You can do this._  He paused by the  broken window, glanced back to send one last glare at the retreating black figures.

When he stepped up to the window, he stepped in broken glass, brushed against it, sent it to falling to the floor. Wash and CT were standing inside, near the middle of the room. They were talking quietly but stopped as he made noise. Both of them wore serious expressions and he wondered what the hell they had been talking about. And what they had thought when he had left, hopping out windows and walking away with those four fuckers.

Felix smiled at them. He had planned to wave casually too but he couldn’t seem to pry his hands loose from the helmet. His breathing was still too fast, heart pounding, and he could tell by the looks on their faces that his little charade of normalcy wasn’t working. Too bad, he was looking forward to not having to talk about this.

CT reached the window mere seconds before Wash. There was a spark of concern in her eyes that was aimed more at herself and Wash than whatever was wrong with Felix. He was sure of that. “What happened?” she demanded.

“We can leave,” Felix said. Anger seeped into his voice and he exhaled sharply. “No, scratch that - we are leaving.” He twisted the helmet in his hands, then threw it at CT’s chest. “You should take that. Keys are in the ignition. Tex will have my fuckin’ head if I wreck that thing.”

“Felix, it’s already dark,” she said. “We can’t risk - ”

“We’re leaving,” Felix said loudly. She stopped and glared at him. “I’m not fucking staying here. You don’t want to stay here, trust me on this. What we need to do is leave. Now.”

CT fell silent. She was clutching the helmet to her chest and slowly reached up to pull it on. The last look she gave him before the helmet hid her eyes was one full of a promise to get to the bottom of what exactly was wrong with him. Felix stared at her, at his own reflection barely visible in the helmet’s visor, and had to give her that one. He had given up on pretending to be alright; the deep frown etched into his face was visible even with the dying light, and no matter how much he tried not to, all he could do was glare at things.

Felix turned on the both of them, walking stiffly back to the humvee and ignoring Wash calling after him. At this point, he wished he had never thought of talking to those fuckers. He could have let Wash kill them, the guy did seem pretty deadset on doing so - but, no. Felix had the brilliant idea that he could fix things, because how bad could four of Control’s guys be?

One of these days, the world was going to give Felix what he wanted.

Which right now, was a nice hot cup of coffee and a good fuck. Both of which were impossible.

The phone was in his hand by the time he had settled into the humvee’s seat. He slammed the door after him, glancing from Locus’s number to Wash and CT. They were walking toward him, too fast for him to even call the jackass and leave him a message. So. Looked like texting for a while.

He sent three messages without even thinking, without looking up as Washington climbed into the drivers’ seat.

The first only said: “You owe me one hell of a fuck when I find you.”

Then: “Asshole Wyoming showed up again. Threatened me, threatened you, apparently is planning to kill us and if I don’t get a call from you tonight, I might kill you before he does. Because this is bullshit, Locus, and you know it.”

The last one read, “I can’t do this, not alone, you gotta meet me somewhere.”

In retrospect of five seconds after the message was sent, Felix regretted that last one. Especially when it was five minutes later and Locus hadn’t responded, and anxiety was twisting in his gut and lighting his nerves on fire. Shit. He had forced back the anger finally, only to be worrying over text messages like a fucking teenager.

Felix tossed his phone on the center console of the humvee and groaned. “Today sucks,” he said quietly.

Wash didn’t answer for so long that Felix thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all. And when he did, he said, “Are you… going to tell us what happened back there?” and Felix wished he hadn’t said anything.

He could talk. He was always pretty good at ranting when he got especially pissed off - but usually, it was either to someone before he killed them or to Locus until he was forced to shut up. And Locus shutting him up usually involved really long kisses that melted all of Felix’s thoughts and left him wanting more.

Shit. No, okay.

Felix had to stop thinking about Locus. It wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

To Washington, he only said, “Later.” Maybe by ‘later’, Felix wouldn’t find it so easy to let the anger flare up again because he felt it creeping back already. No matter how satisfying it might be to vent to Wash right now, he wasn’t going to. He would end saying something about Wyoming, and then he’d be fucked.

Felix resolved to spend the rest of the drive staring out the windshield, watching CT in the brightness of the headlights. Night had fallen, stars blocked out by clouds. He wondered vaguely if she was trying to find another building to stay in, just in case it rained. It was a couple of minutes later when his phone vibrated, noise amplified by the surface it lay on. Felix had it in his hand again in a second - but all he did was scowl. He reached over to tug on Washington’s arm, holding the phone out. “Looks like this one is for you, sweetheart.”

Wash frowned at him, taking the phone slowly. He glanced at the ID, back at the road, at Felix, and then answered. “...Texas…?” he said slowly, cautiously.

Felix turned his attention back to the dark world outside. Waited for CT to turn off the road so they could stop for the night. He tried to ignore Wash’s voice as he spoke - short, halting sentences with long pauses. Giving his phone over wasn’t his best idea, but he so did not want to put up with Tex’s sarcastic taunts on top of everything else.

Raindrops fell on the windshield and Felix thought that all he wanted to do was to go to sleep. Today had stretched on for too long and he hated the rain anyway. There had been one instance a few months back where it had rained every day for almost a week.

Long rainstorms, dampness everywhere after it stopped, and after a few hours, it would be raining again. It had been terrible, those first two days, when Felix had refused to go traipsing around in the rain - sickness was still a thing, he had said - and then he’d ended up spending all of his time in the van with Locus. Wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t argued so much, or if it hadn’t been too hot in the van to curl up against Locus when he went to sleep. It had been miserable, up until Locus had found a house that wasn’t completely broken or filled with zombies.

It was still hot, of course, it had always been kind of hot then. But at least in the house, Felix had been able to get away from Locus for a bit, find somewhere quiet to relax and enjoy the peace. Locus had always found him, of course, disturbed his quiet with the usual bullshit. But then, Locus had also made it a habit during those few days to kiss him slowly, to make even the sex slower. By the second night in that old house, Felix had listened to the rain falling in torrents outside and the thunder rolling and it was like he’d been soothed to the bone.

Right now, though, the rain was worse than it had been back then. There was no house for them to stay in, no sense of privacy with these two, and Locus wasn’t there to fuck him until he felt better about the rain.

Felix growled lowly, sinking into the seat, and cursed himself for thinking about Locus. Again.

Up ahead, CT pulled off the road, drifting through one headlight and the next before being swallowed by the night. Wash turned after her, no longer talking. Felix cast a glance his way, saw the phone to his ear, and the just visible expression on his face. He watched Wash as the look on his face changed from concentration to disbelief and then settled on a cold-lined glare.

Washington lowered the phone, pulling the humvee to a stop in front of a small house. The headlights died as he turned it off, making the image of CT standing in the open doorway the last thing they could actually see clearly. Inside the car, it was dark. Only the dim light of Felix’s phone in Wash’s hands. Felix reached for the door, figuring he would have to make a run for the house to avoid being soaked.

And then Wash said, “You met with _Wyoming!?”_

Felix paused.

“Why the hell would you meet with Wyoming?”

Well. Wash was pissed.

Felix considered his options - stay here, deal with Wash, rain that was most likely freezing - and then he threw the door open.

“Felix!”

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Tell me what the hell you were doing with Wyoming. And then maybe I’ll give it back.”

Felix left the humvee. He slammed the door closed and took a sharp breath. The rain was freezing cold, falling in sheets, and he was willing to bet it’d be ice or sleet before the night was over with. Wherever the clouds had come from, the sky was covered by them now. Made things just a little difficult to see. Felix opened the back door of the humvee, leaning in to pull his pack out from where it sat among the other supplies. Washington had done the same and Felix was pretty sure he could feel the man’s glare on him. “What do you think we’ll need?” Felix asked. “Or are you still going to act like a child? Holding onto a man’s phone, Wash? My only fucking connection to my partner? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Wash snarled a response, yanking his own bag out of the car and slamming it shut. Shortly, the back opened and Felix watched as Wash’s silhouette leaned in. “I just want to know what the fuck you’re up to,” he said icily.

“Yeah, that’s great and all - really, I understand why,” Felix started. He straightened out of the humvee, closing the other door and resigning to leave Wash to collect whatever the fuck it was they needed for the night. “But - and think about this -we can talk about this when rain isn’t going to freeze my balls off. Deal?”

He left before Wash could say anything else, walking through the rain to the front door of the house. Mud pulled at his boots as he walked, rain ran down his face and started to seep through the collar of his jacket. CT was on the porch, still helmeted, not moving. As he passed, she asked, “What the hell is going on?” He thought it was directed at him before he turned around and saw Wash coming up the steps.

Felix retreated into the house, moving through the dark with one hand on a wall at all times. The air smelled like dust and decay, layered over with the scent of fresh rain. He passed by the first room - windows broken, rain pouring in, no good - and by the second room - not big enough by far - before settling on one in the back. Judging by the footfalls that followed him, Wash had decided not to leave him alone.

Great.

Lovely.

Angry, cold, and wet, and he still had to deal with a paranoid prick digging for answers. “All I want to do is sleep,” Felix said as he dropped his things by one wall. The pack was soaked as well and he had a vague thought about matchbooks inside of it. Ruined, no doubt. “I’d like my phone back, and to be dry, but mostly to sleep.”

In the center of the room, Wash pulled a lantern from the crate. It flooded the room with a dim orange light. Felix looked at Wash, watched him pull the dripping jacket off his shoulders, and frowned. Wash was still attractive. How totally unfair.

“CT’s getting us something to eat,” Wash said. “Some extra supplies from the humvee. You are going to tell us what happened.”

What a fucking asshole.

“Ohh, didn’t you already figure that out? I met with Wyoming, you said so yourself.”

“Details, Felix.”

Felix sank to the floor, leaning against the wall. His jacket lay over the back of one hell of an old chair in the corner. There was a table in the corner, barely illuminated by the lantern, but the rest of the room was empty. Wash pulled a second lantern from the crate, set it by the first, and then flipped the empty crate over and sat on it. He glared at Felix; Felix looked pointedly toward the door.

It wasn’t too long before CT came back, duffel bags strewn over her shoulders, a crate in each hand. She looked between the two of them and then dropped all of it on the floor by Wash’s feet. “We should eat,” she said, cracking open one of the crates. “Won’t be able to heat anything up but we’ve got stew. The meat from lunch is still good.” She pulled the helmet off her head and set it down beside her. “Also brought blankets, and a couple of rags to at least try and dry off with.”

Felix ate in silence. Cold meat, cold stew, freezing cold water. CT handed him a rag and one of their blankets, and he really only concentrated on drying his hair because that rag smelled like a combination of old food and motor oil. He didn’t want to know what it had been used for in the past. A blessed fifteen minutes of silence while  they ate and the rain water on his pants started to dry.

Everything was cold, but he was getting pretty used to that.

He looked at the pair of them and thought that, while he could wait for them to ask questions, maybe if he started first he would have the upper hand. Easier to dictate the conversation if he was leading it. He sighed and moved closer to them, settling back on the cold floor. The rain was still pouring outside, slamming on the windows. Felix said, “I may have made a deal with Wyoming.”

Instantly, both of them exploded. Wash and CT’s voices mixed together to make way too much noise.

“Ahh, shut up,” Felix said over them. Pretty much a shout. He threw both his hands up, tension building - Christ, he felt the anger bubbling again and sighed. “Look, it’s not like it’s something I meant to do, alright? I was kind of threatened - pretty vaguely at first, but this time he had that rifle pointed at my head. And I don’t know how you crazy zombie killing experts work, but when someone points a gun at me, I tend to do whatever it takes to save my life.”

From there, they prodded the actual story out of him. So, he told them. Most of it was the truth - the whole thing with the bike needing gas, and Wyoming inviting him to stay for the night. Then Wash asked, “What kind of deal was this exactly?”

For a second, he faltered on how to answer. Just a second, because on one hand he usually kept business deals a secret but on the other hand, this wasn’t a business deal. This was, like, straight up fucking extortion. So he said, “Wyoming is trying to find some people that he called specialists.” He glanced between Wash and CT, and judged that they had a good idea of what he was about to say. “He’s forcing me to help him find them.”

CT said, “Who are the specialists, Felix?”

Wash said, “It’s us, isn’t it?”

“Well... partially.” And then Felix rattled off the whole list of names, watching as both of them became more drawn and resigned with each one. Good. He could use this, he could make the whole conversation go the way he wanted.

“Okay,” CT started. “Do you know why he’s after us?”

That was a no.

“Do you know what he’s doing here?”

Other than pissing Felix off and threatening his life?

No idea.

He let them ask questions for a while, answering smoothly, quickly, lying as swiftly as possible. Bad move, he thought. The lies were going to get tangled up, and then Felix would be in a lot of trouble. He could fix it in the end, he always could, but it was so much easier to just avoid it altogether.

CT asked him why Wyoming was asking for his help.

“I’ve done some things,” Felix said. “Enough to make a name for myself if you ask in the right places. Wyoming said I was one of his targets, so he’s probably got enough information on me to know what I’m capable of, how I could be an asset to the right person.”

It wasn’t a good enough explanation for them, and he spent the next few minutes avoiding answering questions about his life directly. Bits and pieces, lies on top of lies - this was going nowhere fast.

Then Wash asked him about Locus again. Wash, with his phone in his hand. With the most suspicious look that Felix had seen in a long time. And Felix hesitated again. He wasn’t sure when he had mentioned Locus by name recently - did Wash just have a really good memory? - but, goddamn, he did not want to talk about the guy. Talking about Locus was like opening the fucking floodgates on his entire life, what he was doing, what he had done. All the jobs and the mercenary thing - and, just, no.

He needed more time to come up with a possible explanation. Wasn’t like he could just say he didn’t know Locus, it was a bit too late for that.

He said, “Locus… is my partner.” A pause. “Look, it’s… it’s a long story with him.”

“And you’ve got enough time to tell it,” Wash said. His eyes narrowed. “Start talking, Felix.”

Felix shifted where he sat and made an amendment to how he thought of this guy. Dangerous. Totally dangerous. That look alone just promised death. He opened his mouth and instead of explaining about Locus, he said, “I think you guys owe me a bit of information too, yeah? I may know about you - and you’ve got your pal Wyoming to think for that - but what about where you got that humvee? Why do you two have so much military-grade equipment? Does that come with the specialist job? ‘Cause if it does, then I might want to switch professions. Also, y’know, a little background on Wyoming would be nice. Aaaand why the hell Control captured Washington here. How he got away, that sort of thing.”

Neither of them said anything. CT leaned back, bracing her hands on the floor. She looked from Felix to Wash like she was waiting for a reaction. Slowly, she said, “Wyoming… used to work with us. He left a few years ago.”

“He’s a bounty hunter,” Wash supplied. “So if you and this Locus guy have gotten his attention, then you’ve also earned yourself a bounty on your heads. That’s not a good thing.”

Felix shrugged. Couldn’t exactly deny that.

There was another silence, so tense it started to make Felix uncomfortable.

Finally, Wash spoke again. “Felix. What is Control?”

Oh.

Well…

Shit.

Felix paused, backtracked, and realized that he had just spit the name out like it didn’t matter. Like there was anyone else aside from Locus that he talked to about Control. Hell, not even with Locus. It was an unspoken thing unless Control called them or they needed to report in.

And now these two were staring at him. He fought to keep his face blank, void of anything that might somehow make this even worse. As coolly as he could, he said, “Tell me how they captured you. What they wanted you for. Then I’ll explain who they are.”

Wash disagreed with that, it was obvious just by looking at him. Before he could say as much, CT nudged him in the side. Some kind of silent communication went down between them and, in the end, Wash sighed and relented.

He had been fighting zombies with his team at an old stone building back in Colorado. It had seemed like they were winning, even though most of the zombies were clad in full bite-proof suits. Very similar to what Felix wore, apparently, helmets included. They had been carving a path out with the two vehicles they had left when the living men came around the side of the buildings. Wash said he had turned his back on the zombies for a moment, just long enough to fire into one man’s legs - and then someone grabbed him from behind.

“They threw me in the back of a van,” he said flatly. “One of them climbed in, tied me up, and took the weapons I had.”

Two other people had been in there, a woman and a kid. Each one looked as if they were in very advanced stages of the virus, the child much further along. The van was shut and locked with Wash inside with these two people. The woman, he said, had watched him with watery eyes. The child had only laid on the floor of the van, barely breathing.

He didn’t say it, but his voice was taut with fear and rage, barely muted. Felix could guess it, easy: Washington had assumed, at that moment, that he was going to die.

Wash said, “I don’t know what they were going to do. They didn’t exactly tell me.” The back of the van was separated from the front by a thick grated divider. And the men up there ignored their passengers. “They drove. They stopped. One came around to the back, opened the doors. A second was with him, a woman with a case.”

In the case, he said, were  three rows of vials. She opened it, the man took one, took Wash by the arm, and then a knife plunged into his throat. Then the woman dropped, screaming, as a blade tore out her throat. Wash had been saved. By none other than CT.

“She killed them all,” he said. “We put down the two infected, and then took one of their vehicles - the humvee outside, just in case you didn’t pick up on that.” Wash had made her go back to check on the others he had left, but of course they were already gone. That’s always how things went, in the end.

He stopped talking then, and settled his gaze back on Felix. Clearly, he wasn’t going to divulge  anymore information about what had happened. Which only left Felix’s side of the deal.

What was Control?

The light from the lantern flickered once before dimming. Outside, the rain sounded like it was easing up. Felix looked from Wash to CT, and spoke quietly. “Control is just a name. A figurehead in charge of a company. All of their forces wear black suits, so anyone besides me that you have seen dressed like this… Not a good thing, not at all.”

He paused, worried at his bottom lip. Thought carefully before he spoke again. “They’ve hired people with the sole purpose of collecting anyone living in these zombie hot zones. And before either of you ask, I’m not sure why, okay? It’s got something to do with weird tests or something, I don’t know.”

“How do you know about this?” CT asked. She leaned forward, folding her hands in her lap.

“Because they made the bad decision to try and snatch me,” he lied. “I got some information out of him. And his suit.” He motioned toward the jacket he had left in the corner. “I’m pretty sure he got eaten but, eh. Probably deserved it.”

They didn’t believe him. At least, not fully. He could tell in the intense stare from CT, the suspicion that still drew Wash’s face into a narrow glare. And he didn’t blame them, it wasn’t his best spin on things. Considering the pressure and the fact that he hadn’t needed a cover story for this job, it was the best he could do.

Whether they believed him or not, neither of them asked anymore questions. Wash tossed his phone back and Felix retreated back along the wall near the corner. The pair of them stayed where they sat, talking quiet enough that the murmur of their voices carried to him but none of the words made sense. That was alright with him. He toyed with his phone, frowning. No messages, no calls - not a goddamn thing.

As the night wore on, Wash and CT slept close together, nearly back to back. The rain had stopped and cold had swarmed in to take its place. They were warm, bundled beneath blankets. Felix had pushed himself as far from them as he could, lying on his back on the hard floor.  Cold burned through his clothes and the blanket, and he tried his best to ignore it and not shiver. It was a long time before he fell asleep, typing out messages to Locus and deleting each one before shoving the phone deep inside his pack and rolling over to glare at the wall.

Just before he fell asleep, he jolted up, snatched his phone and typed out, “You’re a fucking asshole.”  And then he slept, dreaming of cold, wet snow and bright skies. In his dream, Locus was there at this pitiful excuse for a house, condescending and dismissive and exactly what Felix needed. He ran his fingers over Felix’s cheekbones, like so many times before. His touch was warm, but seared cold on contact.

Felix woke cold, curled around himself. The dream was disappearing. He pushed himself up, breath forming in the air, stomach growling and chest aching.

CT sat by the darkened lantern, sharpening her knives. “You don’t have to sleep so far away,” she said. In the early morning haze, her voice was soft but carried easily. “We may not trust you, but that’s not exactly a new thing. We won’t kill you, Felix.”

He rose while she was talking, reached for his jacket and shook it out. It was cold when he pulled it on, adding another chill to his skin. He pulled the phone from his pack before walking across the room. CT called after him - “Where are you going?” - and Felix ignored her. He checked his phone as he crossed into the hall.

One new message.

From Locus. “Stop worrying. I’ll call you tonight.”

Felix frowned, shoved the phone into his pocket, and left the house. Outside, the entire front yard was covered with snow. When he stepped on it, it cracked several inches away from him and he sighed. Ice coated snow. Great. He shuffled around the sound of the house to piss, careful not to slid on the ice, and then forced a window open and toppled inside. When he found the room they had slept in, Wash was awake and sitting beside CT.

“It’s snowed,” Felix announced. “And then froze over. Some fun driving today.”

CT nodded. “Yeah, we know. We looked out a window. Did you really go outside?”

“Next time I’ll piss in the corner.” He sat down beside her, across from Wash, and stretched his fingers. He had slept with the gloves on and, goddamn, everything was freezing cold. They ate more cold leftovers for breakfast and Felix spent a few minutes afterwards trying to warm up his fingers. He sat there while Wash and CT left to go outside, saying only that everything was covered with ice. He was still sitting there when they came back.

CT sat on the floor next to him, hands in her lap. “We’re staying here for a bit,” she said. She wasn’t looking at him but at the floor between them. “Just until some of that ice melts. It’s too dangerous right now.”

Felix’s response was a grunt as he rubbed his hands together. Still cold.

“Wash is bringing rations and water in, so we can at least eat enough,” she continued.

“Love rations,” Felix said blandly. “Let’s hope the water’s not frozen.” He ran his hands down his legs then, frowning at the cold caught on the fabric, wishing for a fire if they had to stay here. Beside him, CT smiled but said nothing.

 _Stop worrying_ _,_ Locus had said. Felix wanted to argue against that, but what the hell was he going to say? Being threatened - no problem. Absolutely no problem. Losing whatever shred of trust he had gained with CT and Wash - nothing at all to worry about. He could fix all this, easy. All he needed was a chance alone with each of them and his knives. It had been a while since Felix had committed murder for no other reason than to kill someone.

_Stop worrying._

Felix raised his hands to his mouth to hide his smile. He could stop worrying, alright, and get rid of all of his problems at once.

* * *

The van was large, bulky, and couldn’t take sharp curves without slowing. It was impossible to push it over eighty without earning a judgemental look from Locus - an expression that Tex knew was usually thrown at Felix. Being compared to that idiot was enough to make her pull back on the van’s gas, staring Locus down as she drove down twisted roads faster than he liked. The fact that she kept pulling her eyes from the road probably didn’t please him either, but he was a tightass with a control problem and Texas wanted speed. She had somewhere to go, somewhere to be.

She had to meet Church before that dumbass got himself carted off to a laboratory. Which, honestly, would not surprise her. The things she did for that idiot and his noisy friends would surprise even her if she actually took the time to think about it. Still, she had no doubts that if Church was taken away, she’d go kill the person responsible.

But all of that had nothing to do with this van and it’s pathetic speed. And how Locus had decided after only the fifth day that Texas wasn’t going to drive anymore. When she had protested, reasoned that she drove faster and that she knew the van could handle it, Locus had looked at her. He had said, “You spent six hours chasing down a herd of infected buffalo.”

“You were asleep, how do you know that happened?”

“You took pictures.”

“Yeah, well… It’ll be an interesting story.”

All in all, most of the time they spent together in that van were very quiet hours. Locus drove, Texas checked her phone to make sure they were still on track. Which they were, even after the detour to chase down the buffalo herd. They held conversations over campfires, sure. Deciding where to go next, what to do next, who had the first watch - and, of course, whether Felix had gotten himself killed that night when the horde attacked.

Texas wasn’t sure if she cared all that much. She wanted her bike back, absolutely, but if it was possible to get it back without Felix tagging along, that’d be fine. He caused too much trouble. The day when he finally got in contact with Locus, though… They hadn’t been doing anything. Driving, eating, avoiding the undead - and then Locus got the message and he had visibly relaxed. Tension just eased out of him.

And then he pretended that he didn’t spend hours on the phone every night with Felix, and Texas pretended she had no idea about how relieved he was that the squirrely fuck had escaped death. It was the pattern they settled into, even when Tex called Felix to yell at him about finding Washington and CT.

They crossed through Wyoming easily, Locus following her instructions through the countryside. She wanted to avoid the mountains as long as possible; snow was already piling up on its peaks and no matter how much gasoline they had for the van (a lot more than she had anticipated) and no matter its high end heating system, she wanted to stay away from that. They would have to find a way through it soon, but for now, driving through the plains was fine. It was easy, if not kind of boring and really slow, but they were on track and would likely be at Church’s doorstep within the week. That was with the snow and the mountains factored in.

And then she learned that Felix had encountered motherfucking Wyoming. Not once, but twice. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me!?” she roared at Locus.

He looked entirely unaffected. Just annoyed. “He said it wasn’t going to be a problem.”

“And you believed him?”

“Yes.”

They were sitting in the van, Locus having parked alongside a meadow filled with brown grass to check his phone. The sun had already set, making the van’s headlights the only light; overhead, clouds were gathering. Texas was pissed, her hands curled into fists. Her feet were on the dashboard, every muscle in her body tense - because Wyoming was bad fucking news. “Why would you believe him? Why did it never cross your mind to ask me - _the only person you know named after a state_ \- what the big deal with Wyoming was?”

Locus said, with much more certainty than she had expected, “If he says he can handle a problem, he usually can. He’s a lot more capable than you think.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“Only when he talks too much.”

She scowled and cursed, but Locus ignored her. She seethed in silence, glaring past him. A flicker of movement caught her eye, Locus’s fingers moving over his phone, and she sat up straight. “Wait. Don’t send him anything.”

He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m goin’ to call him,” she said. “Tell him exactly why the fuck he shouldn’t be messin’ with these people.” She had her phone in her hand before she finished speaking, calling before Locus could move. As it rang, she watched him out of the corner of her eye. After a few seconds, he shrugged and reached to turn the van off completely. The headlights blinked out and she sat in the darkness, listening to that stupid ringtone blaring in her ear.

Locus moved from the front seat, going into the back of the van. He was more comfortable in the van, even in the darkness. She heard him rummaging around back there, figured he was hunting down one of the flashlights. They had been eating with two big flashlights as their light source when there wasn’t wood for a campfire, which was absolutely the case out here in the fucking plains.

Someone finally answered on the other line, but it wasn’t at all who Tex expected. To be honest, it took her a bit to fit the voice to a name. “...Wash? Why the hell are you answering Felix’s phone?”

On the other line, Wash sounded hesitant to answer. “He’s… not exactly in the best mood.”

And then she listened to Wash talk. He told her about how they had been driving through some decrepit town, how men in black had attacked, how Felix had left on his own and come back madder than hell. Tex listened, occasionally asking questions. She spent most of the conversation adjusting to speaking to someone she hadn’t exactly expected to see ever again let alone speak with. Not that Washington was one of the worst people who worked for the Director, but she had left all of them long ago.

A light flashed on in the back, reflecting on the windshield and rear view mirror. Locus had found his flashlights then.

Once there was an appropriate pause, Texas said to Wash, “Do you know who he met with?”

Wash said no. Exactly what she figured. Felix was nothing if not good at hiding things and lying his ass off.

She said, “He met Wyoming, Wash. Not just once. This was the second fuckin’ time he’s met with this bastard. I don’t know what’s going on because neither he nor his cockbite partner will tell me. But it’s not a good thing, you know that as well as I do.” She paused before adding, “See if you can find out what happened. I don’t think he’ll say anything, but something has got to be going on.”

Wash was silent, so Texas hung up on him. No use wasting her time with someone who wasn’t going to answer. She was still annoyed that Felix couldn’t be bothered to answer her call, but knowing him, he’d be whining to Locus soon enough. Wouldn’t be the first time she commandeered a call to yell at someone. But, dammit, it was pissing her off that that little fuck had gotten tied up with Wyoming - and that she didn’t know what Wyoming was up to. In general, Wyoming was bad news and someone was likely to end up dead before he was finished.

Just depended on who he was after, how many targets he had lined up.

Tex joined Locus in the back of the van for freeze dried rations and cold jerky. Dinner of champions, truly. She opted for the second watch like she had for the past week or more, leaning the passenger seat back as far as it’d go, underneath her own blanket. It was one of the few things she had packed up from her cabin, intending to use it and the second one folded into her bag when she slept by whatever campfire they set. The situation may have changed slightly, but there was no fucking way Tex was going to sleep on that van floor or touch any of the blankets those two had.

Early the next morning, she told Locus to head for the mountains. They could pull up at the foothills before the day was done, and head into the mountains when there was no other alternatives. Make a slow ascent instead of spending days winding through the peaks. She adjusted the GPS route as she thought, giving him directions. By the end of the day, she figured they would be at the base of the mountains and then they could start cutting through the damn things.

A couple of hours later, Locus slammed on the brakes so suddenly that the entire van jolted. The guns rattled where they stood on the wall, everything in those containers shook and clattered together, and Texas jerked forward. The seatbelt cut across her shoulder and she turned to Locus as she wrenched it off. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Locus was already pushing his door open. “There’s something I need to take care of,” he said.

Tex frowned. She twisted around, watching as Locus pulled the back doors open and reached inside to snag a sniper rifle off the van’s wall. A sniper plus ‘something to take care of’ could only mean one thing and she turned back around to scan the horizon. The only thing ahead of them was dying grass and a few huge brown spots of dead bison. But to their right, by the foothills they were approaching, was movement.

She threw open her door and climbed out, walking to the front of the van as Locus braced the rifle on the hood. “Is that… zombies out there?” It couldn’t be, they wouldn’t a threat so far away.

Locus said, “Not at all,” and Tex frowned.

“Then what the hell are you doing?”

Instead of answering, he fired the gun. The noise echoed around the empty countryside - along with a very distant scream. Tex’s frown deepened. Locus was smiling when he pulled back from the rifle’s sights, and he only said, “ I have to pick up something. Get in the van.”

She didn’t want to ask what was so important to shoot someone from so far away but when he stopped the van not ten minutes later, she wasn’t surprised. They were standing in front of a bike. A slightly dirty, dingy sports bike. It needed a cleaning. Through the accumulated dirt and dust, orange paint still shone brightly. Blood splattered over the handlebars, the seat, down the side of it.

“You shot someone off this thing, didn’t you?” Tex asked blandly. This was the most obnoxiously gaudy thing she had ever seen and she was not surprised at all that Felix had put his name on the license plate. Also not surprising that he had paid out the ass for a fucking sports bike of all things. Locus didn’t answer and she turned her head to spot him heading to the back of the van. “Did you really take us off course to get this damn thing?”

“Get the bike,” he said.

Tex sighed, but leaned forward to take the bike by the handles. Her fingers slid over the blood and she scowled. Gonna have to find an extra pair of gloves in the van now. Before she wheeled it back, she looked around them; not a thing left to even hint that people were here. Other than the bike and the blood on it, that is.

At the back of the van, Locus had pulled a collapsible ramp out. It led up to the platform the bike was supposed to rest on and she rolled it up into Locus’s waiting hands. She didn’t wait to watch him lock the thing back down, but went back to the front and climbed in, pulled her phone out, and stared at their path again. The GPS had rerouted instantly, and now wanted to lead them sharply into the mountains.

Goddammit, if she didn’t need to get there so quickly, she would have found another route. As it was, she ordered Locus through the new directions as soon as he was sitting down beside her.

 


	10. there is turmoil out there

They spent the next couple of days driving through snow. They were so high up in the mountains that it was impossible to avoid. Even when the sun was high in the sky and clouds were nowhere to be seen, Felix started to assume it was going to snow every day. Make this trip even longer. And ever since he had admitted to meeting with Wyoming, CT had taken control of the bike again. Which meant Felix was left with Washington for company.

Calling it an awkward ride would have been an understatement. Wash ignored him unless absolutely necessary, hands tight on the wheel, driving carefully after CT over snow-coated roads. Felix stared out the window, looked over at Wash, then at CT in front of them, and spent the entire ride constantly moving. Sitting here was tiring. The silence was overpowering and drove him mad after only twenty minutes - not because of how quiet it was, but because Wash exuded so much barely contained aggression that Felix didn’t want to risk being bodily thrown from the humvee.

It was slow going. Hardly anything moved along the road. Along one side was a sharp dropoff, snow-capped mountains visible all around them. The other held only the steeply rising side of the mountain, also covered in snow. Everything was white and it was rather nice to look at. Aside from the crushing boredom.

They drove until the sun started to set, yet Felix would bet they hadn’t driven even one hundred miles in a day. Pitifully slow. CT stopped at an exhumed park ranger building. There was nothing inside but one fat rabbit that took off when they shoved the door open. CT set to pulling things out of the humvee, preparing for another cold night; Felix left with Wash to go find wood that wasn’t frozen cold or too wet to burn.

Wash, of course, maintained his steely silence even while they wandered further and further from the  ranger’s station. Felix followed behind him, rolling a knife between his fingers and considering just how simple it would be to slide the blade into his back. Wash was strong, fast, and a threat as long as that gun hung over his shoulder. He had an axe too, carrying it in his hands - but Felix could account for that. Trip him, disarm him, use the axe against him.

It would be so easy.

He could already see the blood staining the snow around Wash’s body. It was exhilarating in a way that it really shouldn’t have been. Felix was a professional. He was over that whole getting off on killing thing. But Wash was dangerous, and had the potential to be deadly, and they were trooping through the woods, in the quiet. Alone.

This could be over in seconds.

No… It _would_ be.

Felix spun the knife in his hand, gripping it tightly. He pulled his feet through the snow, moving smoothly and quietly until he was right behind Wash. He was reaching for Wash’s shoulder when the gunshot went off. Felix had a split second before his shoulder exploded in pain, just long enough to watch Wash whirl back around. The knife fell from his hand and he thought dimly _someone just fuckin’ shot me_ before an angry scream ripped out of him.

Wash had raised his gun, scanning the land behind them. The axe lay abandoned at his feet, inches from where Felix’s knife had landed. Felix reached for his shoulder, slowly, cringing when his fingers pressed into the wound. He tried to muffle a sharp noise of pain through gritted teeth and failed, Wash’s eyes dropping to him. “Felix…?” he said quietly. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve been fuckin’ shot,” Felix said. His voice shook with anger and pain. Every muscle in his arm was tense, pain lacing out from where the bullet hit. He watched blood - his blood - splatter onto the snow almost unable to believe it. “Someone shot me.”

Wash let go of the gun with hand, taking Felix by his uninjured arm. “We need to get out of here.” He pushed Felix back, keeping him steady. “CT can fix the wound.”

Felix’s eyes settled on his knife, glinting in the dying light. The orange stripe that marked it as his. He lunged out of Wash’s grasp, reaching with the wounded arm on reflex. He sank to his knees by the knife, forcing a scream back in his throat - _fuck_ , that had hurt. His fingers shook but he still gripped the knife tightly, ignoring the pain. Then Wash grabbed him again - both hands, on his waist - and Felix was yanked to his feet.

“Let’s go,” Wash said. He pushed Felix ahead of him, trading glances from the trees up ahead to Felix in front of him. “Don’t risk your life for a knife.”

Felix ignored him.

Vaguely, he was aware that his phone was buzzing in his pocket. He fished it out as he walked, stumbling in the snow as he did. Wash’s hand rested on the back of his jacket when his steps faltered, and he muttered quiet curses as Felix paused to answer his phone. Blood smeared the screen when he slid his thumb across it.

Locus’s voice was in his ear in a second. He talked, but Felix’s fury at having been shot from behind like a fucking amateur overshadowed anything he had wanted to say. “Locus,” he snapped. “I’ve been shot.”

Locus was silent for a few seconds, leaving Felix to listen to his own harsh breathing and the crunching of snow beneath his and Wash’s feet. When he spoke again, it was quiet. “Explain. Now.”

He did so with as little words as possible. “From behind. Right shoulder. Gonna kill the bastard.”

And then Wash was holding the door to the ranger station open and leading him inside. CT had brought in the usual array of blankets and a lantern, food and water, but she was standing to the side of all. Waiting for firewood, most likely. She was at Felix’s side in a second, reaching out to take hold of him. Like being shot meant he could  no longer take care of himself. His anger tripled the second she laid her hands on his injured arm. No matter how lightly she touched, he wanted to slam her head into the floor. Break some bones. Give her all of his pain and more.

CT said, “What happened out there?”

Felix resisted the urge to snap at her - what the fuck did it look like happened? - because Locus was still talking. Low and quiet and telling Felix to keep calm.

Yeah, okay.

“Aw, easy for you to say, you haven’t been shot,” Felix snarled. He shrugged CT’s hands off of him and instantly cringed, pain sparking almost in double. The muscles in his shoulder grew taut, the pain multiplied again, and the knife fell from his shaking fingers. He turned the groan of pain into a curse.

Over the phone, Locus said, “...You’re aggravating the wound, aren’t you?”

At the same time, Wash said, “Why do you keep moving?”

Felix said, “Fuck you,” as an answer to both of them. CT gripped his arm again, carefully, and he bit back the impulse to throw her off again. She led him to the center of the room and pushed him down onto one of their crates, the one that held the military rations. He let her sit him down and  push lightly against his shoulder.

He hissed, and scowled. Locus was telling him not to be so childish - to calm down, breathe, it was just a gunshot. “You’ve been shot before,” Locus said. “It’s likely not as bad as you are making it out to be.” Felix listened, or tried to best he could with anger boiling inside him every time CT’s fingers hit too close to the wound.

CT said, “Felix, you need to take off the jacket.”

He listened to that too, putting the phone down to pull at the jacket’s clasps and straps with one hand - and then suddenly his phone was snatched away and Felix’s curses came out strangled and animalistic. He glared at Wash, who wiped the blood off the surface and raised the phone to his ear. Wash said, “I’m sorry but your… partner needs medical attention and a phone isn’t required for that.”

Felix made a noise between whining and snarling and Wash raised his eyebrows. “Give it back,” he spat. “I have to talk to him. About things you wouldn’t understand, see, important things.”

Wash ignored him.

CT moved around to Felix’s front, undoing every clasp and strap until he could shrug it off. It was mildly offensive having her undress him like he was some kind of child. She wasn’t satisfied until she pulled his shirt off too and then put up a crate  behind him, and Felix had to sit and seethe and listen to Wash talk to Locus. Goddamn, that was getting on his nerves.

That was _his_ phone, _his_ call that Wash had taken over. Even when Wash lowered the phone, he didn’t give it back, didn’t even look in Felix’s direction.

But at least focusing on Wash, watching him pace around the room, was a good enough distraction from CT treating a gunshot wound. Because whenever Felix had been shot before he had always been fixed up by medical professionals, by combat medics, by that crazy fucking doctor Locus had on speed dial - but never by some girl he didn’t trust. And never in a dirty room in an abandoned building. The blood pounded in his skull, his shoulder hurt, and he bit the inside of his mouth so as not to make any pathetic noises while she worked.

It wasn’t until she finished and threw a blanket over his shoulders that he realized how cold he actually was. When he tried to reach out with both arms, he jolted with the pain, and CT smacked the back of his head. “Stop it,” she said. “Try not to move too much.” She told him that the bullet hadn’t done any major damage, that it shouldn’t do any more, that what he needed to do now was rest and not move his injured arm or she was going to break it.

Felix frowned. She had covered the wound in more gauze than was probably necessary but he wasn’t going to argue against it. Locus had the same tendency whenever he treated wounds on either of them - a habit, Felix figured, encouraged by all the time they spent in high level hazard zones. The extra gauze was supposed to prevent anything from getting to the wound while it healed; he just hoped they had enough to change it.

After an hour, Felix was freezing and whined about it until CT stood from where she had been sharpening her blades. She helped him put a shirt back on but his anger had far from dissipated, so Felix took her order ‘don’t move your injured arm’ far more seriously than she expected him to and flat out refused to move it an inch. It was childish and stupid, but he was still smirking about it when she sat back down with a sigh.

Wash had left twenty minutes ago to find wood and maybe something to eat. He had insisted he would be fine alone. All three of them knew that what he had meant was that CT needed to stay there in case something happened. Felix was injured and clearly couldn’t take care of himself. It was absolute horseshit since Felix had done plenty of dangerous shit with worse wounds and come out fine. For fuck’s sake, he had spent three months taunting infected lions and cheetahs on the Serengeti - but no, one bullet to the shoulder and his career was over.

At least Wash had dropped his phone into his hand before he left. Felix wasted no time in calling Locus back and complaining. CT ignored him, though her head did snap up for a second when he mentioned the Serengeti thing to Locus.

Locus told him he was stupid, that the entire trip to Africa had been a stupid move on Felix’s part, and it had nothing to do with his situation now. And then he changed the subject completely by saying, “Texas has suggested that we meet at this camp she’s searching for.”

Felix had been picking at the ends of the blanket over his shoulder while Locus ranted, phone balanced on the uninjured shoulder, but he froze then. The dull blade of anger twisted in his gut again and he only got out an angry whine before Locus was talking again.

“We’re in Montana, Felix. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“Yeah, maybe, but it’s still a cop out if I’ve ever heard one,” Felix said. “She just wants to get that stupid boyfriend of hers - honestly, you should kick her out and come pick me up. I’m injured. I need proper medical attention.” He settled his half-hearted glare on CT. Really, he was too annoyed at Texas’s bullshit plan and how Locus apparently wanted to go through with it to care about CT’s hasty first aid. “Come get me. Fuck Texas.”

“It’ll be fine,” Locus said. He sounded calm and that was annoying too. If Felix was going to be upset and angry, then so should he. “It’ll give you time to heal - and, judging by what Washington said, you’re overreacting.”

“I am not! Wash is an asshole.”

Of course Locus ignored him. “He said the armor in your jacket probably absorbed enough impact from the bullet to prevent it from shattering your clavicle or hitting a vital artery. I would take the ‘probably’ factor out. It did. You are overreacting, like you always do.”

“I do not always overreact,” he said. It took on a whining tone and he sighed loudly.

“You are especially irritating when someone manages to surprise you,” Locus added. “Now stop being childish and listen to me.”

“Why are you such an asshole? I got shot, you fucker.”

“Felix, the worst that has happened to you is that the bullet likely hit one of your tattoos. You have been through worse. Shut up.”

Felix blinked. Oh, man. He hadn’t even considered the tattoos that covered his right arm, but Locus was probably right. He relayed that thought to CT who sighed at first and then told him that, yes, it had hit right in the middle of a tattoo. Felix said, “Oh, my god. Are you kidding me? I have a ruined tattoo. Locus, I’m going to have a scar over what used to be beautiful artwork.”

Locus sighed, so low and annoyed that it came through the phone like a growl. “Felix. Pay attention.”

“No, look! I’ve had tattoos done up around scars before, it’s pretty cool - but this is on one! Right in the middle of one.” He was going to find the guy that shot him and disembowel the fucker.

It only took one sentence from Locus for him to refocus. “I’ll see how bad it looks, Felix. When I see you in Montana. At this camp.”

Felix scowled. There really wasn’t going to be any changing this asshole’s mind now. “I don’t want to meet there,” he said as calmly as he could - which wasn’t very calm at all. The door opened behind him; Wash had returned, hopefully with firewood, maybe with a kill. “That’s like… I don’t know, but it’s a long way away. Just turn the van around and come get me. This is getting ridiculous, it’s like you want to leave me here.”

There was the slightest pause before Locus answered. “Texas doesn’t want to run into Wyoming. She thinks he’s following you somehow and would prefer to avoid it. And I would prefer to avoid provoking her. So stop whining, act like a professional, and figure out a way to deal with your problems.”

Felix grumbled an agreement and Locus said he would forward the GPS coordinates later that night, when he could get it from Tex. “It shouldn’t take that much longer, right?” Felix asked.

“Less than a week.”

“Make it four days. No, wait - three.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Three days is good.” He glanced down at what Wash had dropped onto the floor between him and CT. A small jumble of wood, enough to heat dinner over. No meat. He frowned. “You know you agree with me. We can hunt down deer or elk or moose- whatever the fuck is around that place. Actual meat, Locus, just think about it.”

Locus sighed. “I’ll see you when we get there. Take it slow, Felix. Don’t aggravate the wound.”

Felix looked from CT to Wash and agreed, if only to change the subject. The way he was now, he wouldn’t be much for leading these two anywhere. He had only told CT to go north, that he would make Wash ram the bike if they needed to change course - neither were fond of that, the joke flew right over their heads. But he could already predict that the next day, she would refuse to give him the bike because of this stupid wound.

Which meant that even though he needed to push them off track, it was going to be slow work. He was going to have to give her instructions when they stopped to eat and in the mornings before they set off again. Frustratingly slow, and the idea of seeing Locus again in three days was pointless to hold onto if that was his future.

“It might be more than three days,” he said quietly. As close as the three of them were right now, it was impossible for CT and Wash not to hear what he said. He hoped by lowering his voice they’d take the hint to at least try not to eavesdrop. “Got some things I’ll have to take care of before then. Not too big of a problem, mostly… annoying.”

He wish he could say more right now because that was just not enough information.

The simplest thing to do would be to kill them both, shoot them in the head at a short distance. Even with the injury, he could fire a pistol. But Felix was never one for the simplest ways of doing things, especially when he had been so very close to slicing Washington’s throat earlier.

Locus said, “Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast. I don’t want to have to clean up after you.”

“Fuck off, man.”

The last thing Locus said that night was, “Don’t get shot again.”  

Felix fell asleep early, the anger and pain collapsing together into exhaustion. He woke early as well, staring into the dark and trying to figure out why he was even awake. There were no sounds - no wind, nothing moving outside, nothing moving inside - and he was only really aware of the pain that still throbbed in his shoulder. He needed painkillers, but it was dark and cold, and even with the dirty floor pressing into him, Felix preferred to just lie there.

He didn’t move until his phone lit up, lying inches from his face. One new message, from Texas, ordering him to check the bike for a tracker. He frowned at the screen and a second appeared - “Trust me on this. It was Wyoming.”

Felix shrugged his jacket on, grunting and hissing at the pain of moving his shoulder. He went outside silently, jacket unzipped, unclasped, open to the cold air, which chilled him right to the bone. His breath was visible, puffs of air standing out against the black of the sky. He felt like the only living thing out there.

The moon overhead was hardly more than a sliver, barely enough to see by, and Tex’s bike practically melted into the darkness. Felix crouched down right next to it, placed his hands on it carefully - shit, he had forgotten to slip his gloves back on - and sighed. Looking for a tracker was an easy job when he knew what the fuck he was doing, but this was impossible. The bike was freezing cold, numbing his fingertips after only a short while. At the very least, he knew there was nothing placed anywhere on the external; he would have seen it by now.

Which led to him on his knees, hands feeling alongside the underside of each and every bit of a motorcycle that was freezing cold. This was stupid. This was idiotic. Could have waited for the sun to come up, but no, had to take care of it now. His shoulder throbbed - maybe the wound didn’t like the cold either - but Felix ignored it as his fingers landed on something that was most definitely not standard issue bike material.

He knew this mostly because it popped loose when he dug a finger under it.

He pulled his hands back, looking at it under the moonlight. Small, hardly bigger than a quarter, if even that. It looked black but it was so small and the moon was so shit tonight that he couldn’t really tell. He rolled it between two fingers before reaching to dig his phone out. The wound in his shoulder almost screamed as he went for it; he ignored it best he could.

Ten seconds later, Felix had snapped a photo of it and sent it to Texas.

She answered back: “Get rid of it.”

No need to tell him twice. Felix didn’t even think, just stood and threw it as hard as he could as far from the ranger station as he could. It was swallowed up by the night in seconds, hopefully landing and sinking into the snow where it would freeze and break whatever technology it had inside of it. Felix stared at the bike in front of him, not seeing it, thinking of the trackers he and Locus had given to Control’s men. The boxes that held trackers and jammers and were synced to work with satellites overhead - because that’s what they had gotten themselves into.

They were working with someone who had enough money and influence to be able to tap into a fucking satellite. Someone who could use that influence to give Felix and Locus power without even blinking an eye.

And then someone had used the same fucking thing on Felix.

Jesus fucking Christ, did he hate this Wyoming guy.

The phone buzzed in his hand again - had been buzzing, actually. He looked at it again, read through Tex’s messages quickly. “I know it was Wyoming,” she had sent. “It was just too convenient for you to run into him twice, and then get shot.” Normally, Felix would have said Texas was getting a bit paranoid, that living out here for so long was making her lose it, but he had the feeling she was right about this.

He sent her: “Yeah, okay, Wyoming. Why the fuck would he shoot me?”

The answer was just, “I don’t know,” and Felix rolled his eyes. Some help she was. Another message: “When did he have time to put a tracker on you?”

At first, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if he made a habit of leaving the damn bike behind. But then, he remembered that first time he had run into Wyoming. When he had been coerced into spending the night there, when one of Wyoming’s men had gone off to prepare the bike for a long drive. It had to have been then, while Felix was chatting with the asshole and eating his food…

He scowled, berating himself for letting such a thing happen. Even though he had no control over it. Even though it had long since happened. Didn’t matter. He had slipped and been caught, and no fucking wonder the guy had found him twice.

Felix eyed the snow around him, waiting for another message from Texas, and had such a sudden thought that it was like something had crashed into him.

Wash had searched for the shooter while they walked - and if it was Wyoming, then the fucker could have been far away with his sniper rifle - but then, Wyoming also wore white. A white that was always so blindingly bright, perfectly clean no matter what filth he was standing in. A white that would, pretty much, allow him to blend in with the freshly fallen snow.

He was still considering this when he went back inside, as he paced restlessly around the room. CT was asleep, but Wash had woken up while he was gone. Felix felt the other man’s eyes on him, but neither one of them said a thing. After a while, he stopped moving, sinking back to the cold ground where he had slept. He closed  the jacket, redoing all the clasps and straps and cursing softly whenever his shoulder protested.

Felix was going to find Wyoming, and then he was going to kill Wyoming, and it was going to be so much worse than what would happen to the two he was traveling with. It was going to be brutal, maybe Felix would lose himself in the murder - it had been a while since it happened because Locus was always there to stop him before he decided to hang someone up by their own intestines or pull the heart out of their chest. But, goddammit, if anyone deserved it, it was Wyoming.

Only problem was finding the fucking asshole.

If he blended in with the snow, Felix was going to inflict extra pain just for that.

CT took the bike when they left.

Felix didn’t argue, only climbed into the humvee and turned his focus out the window instead. He took his pain meds, ignored Wash like the guy chose to ignore him, and thought. He thought not of Wyoming (because it was liable to piss him off again), but of the easiest way to kill Wash and CT. How best to avoid her knives and his skills with that goddamn rifle he never put down. Neither would be easy with his shoulder threatening to explode with every sudden movement, but he could do it. There weren’t many people that Felix couldn’t take down, injured or no - and if it ever got too bad, if it the wound just so happened to feel like it was going to rip a new hole in his body while he was brutalizing these assholes, then, hey. He had plenty of anecdotes about surviving worse, about pushing himself through worse.

He could do it. The satisfaction of a nice, long, drawn-out kill would have to be cut short, but he could do this so goddamn easily.

God, he shouldn’t be sitting there thinking about this. Felix was controlled, he had left behind the wild abandon, that freefall sensation of savoring a kill. He was a professional. He knew how to handle himself, when to attack, how to do it, when the best time to spring a surprise death on someone was - and he knew that people as dangerous as CT and Wash needed to be killed as fast as possible. But it was like a switch had been flipped and every glance he threw at Wash was punctuated with where he could slice and cut. Make every inch of Washington’s skin into his own personal canvas. Leave him to die, bleeding out in the snow.

Wash’s gaze flicked to him and Felix thought that, hey, maybe he could pull out Wash’s eyes while he was at it. The screams alone would be worth it - but, no, with the dead liable to show up anywhere, he would have to cut out the tongue first.

Wash said, “Stop staring at me.”

Felix blinked. “Hmm? Staring?” He grinned and was pleased at how easy it was to look and sound casual. Slipped right back into being himself, being a charming fool. “Sorry, sweetheart. Must’ve gotten lost in thought.”

Wash turned his attention back to the road. “Right… Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’.”

“You got it, babe.”

Wash sighed, and Felix wondered how attractive he would look with his skin marred beyond recognition and his guts hanging out. Not very, he was sure.

They stopped for dinner at a house that had very clearly been burned at some point in its long life. Felix milked the shoulder wound to his advantage, doing nothing to help prepare for dinner or the fire or setting up for the night. The most he did was melt snow for disposable water and then lean against the humvee and use its mirror to shave. And then he examined his face and sighed. The dark circles under his eyes were getting worse and he blamed the vague sense of waking up on the coattails of nightmares every morning. Terrible. Absolutely terrible.

At dinner, he asked them, “Am I still attractive?” It was partly to avoid being asked why he was so quiet; it wasn’t as if they ever exchanged long stories like he did with Locus and Texas, but he had never been silent before. And, also, he was wondering.

They both stared at him. CT said, “Sorry, what?”

Felix sighed, frowning at the bowl of hot stew in his hands. So little meat was floating it in. “Goddamn bags under my eyes,” he said. “Get worse every day.”

“You’ll survive,” CT said, the corners of her mouth twitching up.

“I’m bypassing homeless asshole and going right to heroin chic,” Felix muttered. “Appearance is important in my line of work.” Which was the truth. Felix was a charmer and it was so hard to charm people when he was starting to look like he abused drugs every fucking day.

The rest of dinner was boring and uneventful and Felix spent it pondering the easiest way to separate CT from the knives she kept on her at all times. Even as she changed the dressing on his wound, he thought about it. The easiest way to slice her wrists, her fingers, maybe shove the blades straight through her elbows. Make it too difficult for her to even grip the knives before she could throw one at him.

When he woke up the next morning with detailed murder plots weaving through his head, Felix knew he needed to do something quick. This was just going to consume him otherwise, turn into some kind of sick obsession. That alone was too familiar, so much of a call back to how he behaved when he first got into this business… It wasn’t going to end well because Felix had always had a problem with getting too carried away. Spending too long detailing, drawing things out, watching with sick fascination as his targets died with his taunts being the last thing they heard.

It was one hell of a rush though.

By lunch, they had followed the road into a deserted town and Felix had laid out at least five more ways to murder his companions.

The town was as void of life and movement as the ranger station had been yesterday. The wind was blowing now, settling the cold around them quicker than before. Judging by the sky, it was going to snow again before the morning. They parked at an intersection near the beginning of town. Buildings rose on either side, as high as five stories, all of them empty and dark and covered with a layer of unmarked snow. Their tires had left left easy marks to follow and Felix didn’t care for that one bit. His feet sank into the snow, almost up to his ankles here, and he didn’t like that either.

Snow made it so easy for someone to follow him. He didn’t usually care about such things, mostly because he had measures in place to prevent someone from following him everywhere ...but one of those measures was Locus and another was the full use of his right arm. And he had already been shot once.

Felix shuffled close to Washington, smiling when the other man gave him a look. He was tempted to say something about safety in numbers simply for his own amusement.

Before he could speak, CT turned to both of them. She had pulled the helmet off, balancing it on the bike’s seat. “We should stay here for the rest of the day,” she said. “The bike is going to need refueling,  and we’ll need to find enough wood to have a fire for the night. One of these buildings has got to be good enough to use so - ”

“Question,” Felix interrupted. “What does any of that have to do with staying here?”

CT frowned. “If you had waited… It looks like it’s going to snow again. I’m not getting caught in it. This bike is great, but it isn’t really equipped for this weather.”

“Great, yeah, wonderful,” Felix said. “You’re not gonna try and make me stay here with the car are you? ‘Cause let me tell you, it gets pretty fucking boring with just Wash for company. Guy doesn’t even talk to me anymore.”

CT sighed, Wash muttered something about how Felix was the one who wasn’t really talking, and five minutes later, Felix was setting off down one snow-covered road after CT. She hadn’t wanted to take him, she had made that very obvious. Due to him saying he didn’t wish to stay with Washington, she had had no other choice. The two of them were still reluctant to leave poor, injured Felix all by himself. What if he got hurt again? What if zombies showed up and he couldn’t protect himself?

They’d be left without a guide to Kimball’s, and that just couldn’t happen.

Wash was to set up camp while they were gone, a job that must have included chopping up firewood because CT was leading Felix in the opposite direction of trees. He had tried to figure out what the fuck she was up to, but since wandering deeper into a ghost town made no fucking sense, he quit. She was armed to the teeth though, blades strapped to her legs, a pistol on one hip, and a high-powered rifle on her back. All Felix had were his knives and one pistol.

His mind was still whirring with ways to kill her and setting off alone with her wasn’t helping to stop them. He could do the math: he was injured, she was not. She had more weapons. She might even be faster than he, something he was a little loathe to admit - but it could be true. He hadn’t seen her fight since a night over a week ago when she had helped eliminate the zombie threat but she had been quick then.

Felix’s fingers twitched as he followed her. The need to hold onto at least one of his knives was growing. She kept pushing forward, quiet, stopping at every intersection and alleyway to check for the undead. Their footsteps stretched out behind them, around corners of streets and back to the humvee. Felix gave in, slid a knife into his good hand and spun it casually.

After a few minutes, he asked, “What exactly are we doing out here?”

“Hunting,” she said instantly.

“Uh… For what?”

CT didn’t answer. She turned into a building, pushing against the door until it opened with a loud screech. She entered with no hesitation, and Felix had no choice to follow her. The inside was just like the others he had been in - dusty, dirty, smelling of death and decay and decades of rot. It was disgusting. CT headed up stairs that creaked with each step and Felix followed after her. On the second story, she slowed, moving with more deliberation. He watched her test every step lightly but didn’t bother to follow her lead.

Until the floor caved in halfway down a long hallway. Felix tried to step where she did after that. Best to avoid rotten floorboards.

At a back room, CT had to actually kick the door open. It burst at the handle, wood splintering before it swung open. The smell of rot was stronger and Felix recoiled, swearing. He raised his good hand to his face, trying to cover his mouth and his nose, get the smell of rotting flesh away. Didn’t work very well seeing as he pressed the back of his hand to his face, blade turned toward CT’s back. It’d be easy to attack like this, but, goddamn, that smell was making the bile rise in his throat.

“What the fuck,” he said thickly. “are we doing here?”

“I told you,” she said. Her voice shook - anger, maybe. “We’re hunting. And this is just the start.” She pushed past the broken door, making no signs to show that the smell was even bothering her.

Felix cursed again, edging forward to peer into the room. He never stayed around long enough for bodies to actually smell - and the dead in this room had been dead for at least a week. Maybe longer, the cold wasn’t making it easy to guess when they had been killed.

There were three bodies. Two males, one woman. The faces of all of them were unrecognizable, blasted off by short-range shotguns blasts if Felix had to make a guess. Each body lay on its side, gunshot holes in the legs of their pants. Their arms were twisted behind their backs and he knew that they had been tied prior to the death blow. This was Control’s work. No one would else take the time to tie someone up before killing them - not in these zones. He and Locus had traveled with a pair of Control’s forces for a while. Both had been girls, both had been violent, and both of them had enjoyed tying up anyone they found like cattle before slaughtering them.

Felix looked at CT, at the tension in how she stood, the anger drawing her brows together. He paused, considered his actions, and decided why the fuck not tell the truth? “It was Control,” he said. “Y’know - The murderers?”

CT’s head turned just slightly to him but her eyes were still trained on the corpses in the center of the room.

“No one else is as brutal as those guys,” Felix continued. “At least… No one I’ve met. Not out here. They’ve got a special kind of crazy in each and every one of them, very nasty people. I try to avoid them as much as I can.”

She looked over at him then, glaring. He wasn’t sure if that was directed at him or the fact that these people were dead. What she said managed to surprise him - just a little bit. “I know who it was, Felix. I know what they died for, and who killed them, and why they died.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“....Mind informing me? ‘Cause I gotta admit, you kind of have the upper hand now.”

Instead of answering, CT bent down. Crouching in congealed blood next to the bodies, she reached for the nearest one, hands shaking. Felix watched her from the doorway.

CT was reaching into the pockets of the man she knelt by, seemingly unbothered by the blood she was skating her fingers through. It was congealed and freezing, but it was still blood, and old, and therefore really disgusting. As she searched them one by one, she started talking again. “It was Control,” she said. “I’ll give you that one. I’ve been working with these ...these people. There are more of us, scattered because those goddamned assholes in black keep showing up. Everytime we get close to something, they’re there to push us back.

“This was a meditated attack. They knew we were going to meet here - that I was going to meet with them, that we were going to work with you, and with Wash. So they attacked first. And they killed them all.”

On the third body, she seemed to find what she was looking for, sitting back with her knees resting on the floor. In one hand, she held something that Felix took for a phone. She looked back at him, and as if she had read his mind, said, “It’s not a phone. It’s a GPS system.” CT pushed back to her feet, walking the short distance back to Felix. She turned it on when she reached his side, bringing it up - a small red dot blinked north of them.

In Canada.

Kimball’s.

Why was everything pointing to fucking Kimball?

“There’s something going on at this camp,” CT continued. “There’s a lot going on, actually - a lot of twisted things, secrets… but what we’re after is at this camp. If we can get there, I might be able to figure it all out. Figure out why this is happening.”

Felix narrowed his eyes at the device in her hands. He had a feeling, a very strong feeling, that he was not going to like where she was going with this.

“Everything about these high hazard level zones is wrong,” she said. When he looked up at her, there was a fire in her eyes. A spark of determination. “The people that live out here, we’re told they’re not here. We’re taught that no one lives here, that no one could live here, or would want to live here - but then, how many living people have you run into?”

“Dozens.” And he had killed at least half of them. “Maybe more.”

CT nodded. She slipped the GPS device into a pocket on her jacket, pushing past him into the hall. “If these people weren’t supposed to be living here, they wouldn’t have such easy access to things like gasoline and electricity. They would have no water other than groundwater, any kind of food that they didn’t grow themselves.”

“Let me guess: They have all of that.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “They do. They shouldn’t have any of it, and something about that is wrong.” At the top of the stairs, she turned back to face him. Everything about her - the way she was standing, the way she looked at him, the way she spoke - it all put forth the image that if he said the wrong thing here, CT would not even hesitate to leave him on his own. “Look, Felix… I don’t trust you. Wash certainly doesn’t trust you. But there is an awful lot going on here, a lot at stake, and I need all the help I can get.”

He said nothing, just waited. The knife in his hand was burning to be used.

“Stay with us, Felix. I’ll help you find your partner if you help me find out what’s going on at this camp.”

“We already made a deal,” he said coolly. “I get you to Kimball’s. You don’t let me die. Pretty beneficial, I thought. What’s with the change of heart?”

CT’s gaze flicked back to the room at the end of the hall for a second before refocusing on him. “Things have changed. Those three knew what was happening. And they died for it.”

Felix nodded slowly. He knew what he had to do, what he was going to do. He rolled the knife between his fingers without noticing, thinking. CT knew a lot, but not enough, not the whole twisted story. She had ideas, she had found strings and was following an entire web inward to the center. CT was involved, more involved than she needed to be, in the biggest deal that Felix had ever been handed.

He said, calmly, “Do you want to know what’s goin’ on at Kimball’s? Why everything seems to be pointing in that direction?”

“Of course I do, that’s what this is all about.”

A smirk was growing on his face and he fought it back down. Gloating was going to happen, of course, but that was later. When he was standing over her battered body and watching the life bleed out of her. “Now, see - and listen carefully here, alright?” He leaned just the slightest bit closer to her, raising the hand with the blade in it to the side of his mouth. Like he was exchanging a secret with her. “I know what will happen at Kimball’s.”

Her eyes widened just briefly before narrowing. She looked like she was going to speak, and Felix rolled right over that.

“Everyone is going to die,” he whispered with a wink, straightening again. The blade spun in his hand as he talked. “It’s going to be terrible. Blood’s gonna be everywhere, won’t be able to take two steps without falling over a dead body. Control has been herding people in that direction for months - well, the ones that they’re not outright murdering. ‘Cause at least one of their agents? He’s kind of been telling groups of the idiots out here that they can find safety at Kimball’s.” CT’s face was becoming more amusing with every sentence; he could see the anger building in it, the need to understand him dwelt behind that, and then Felix was grinning. “CT - Connecticut - you dear, precious, fool of a girl.

“I’m going to kill them. I’m going to kill each and every person who has been stupid enough to listen to my urging and has turned tail to that camp. No one is going to make it out of there, and I’ve got all of Control’s forces on speed dial to help me out.”

He paused and in that second, she jerked forward, a blade in hand. He deflected it easily with his knife, and laughed. “No! Wait! The best part is - you’re going to die here, and I’m going to leave with Washington, and then when I find Locus… When I find him, we’re going to kill Wash together. It’ll be like a bonding experience. And then, together, we’re going to find every person alive in these states. And we’re going to kill them too. For the money, of course.”

She attacked then, as he had expected her to. Goading people into fighting tended to work well for him; piss someone off and they’re more likely to slip up while fighting. CT was turning out to be the exact opposite. She was fast, a blade in each hand, striking out with precision. Felix blocked and deflected most of them, sending her blows to places where they would bounce harmlessly off the steel-plating in the jacket. But she kept coming anyway, smoothly. She caught his fist when he swung, bending his arm back and pushing. He jerked his arm loose and the knife in his hands cut through her jacket.

It didn’t seem like much of a problem for him until one of her attacks hit squarely on his wounded shoulder. The hilt of her blade, slamming down inches from the wound. Pain flared like fire, clouding his vision for just an instant. Felix gritted his teeth, inhaled sharply, and in that instant CT swung her other fist at his head. It hit his jaw and the blade sliced him from there to his eye - a thin cut, but it stung like hell.

Normally, he’d attack here with his right arm, force her back with a hit to her stomach or the face - but the wound was still throbbing too sharply, too loudly. He couldn’t focus on moving it and the most he could do was shove her arm back before a foot landed on his chest. All of CT’s strength was poured into it, and she kicked him backwards.

Felix lost his footing, stumbling right over the top of the stairs. And the second his feet left the floor, he acted on instinct, twisting. He used the momentum to throw his hands back, palms flat and ready to press into the floor. Supposed to make it easier for him to flip backwards and land on his feet, he had done it plenty of times.

And then his hands found purchase on a step, gripped - and white hot pain seared through his shoulder. He dropped instantly, a sharp cry flying out. His back landing sharply on the edge of a stair didn’t help, and neither did CT taking the stairs quickly to lash out at him with one of the blades. On reflex, he threw up an arm - his left, thank fucking God - and her blade cut into his hand. Right through the glove. Her knife caught his, sent it flying from his grasp.

“You don’t understand,” she said. Her voice was pulsing with anger, but steady. She stood halfway up the stairs, watching him with fiery eyes as he scrambled down the rest of the staircase. “There’s a lot more going on than whatever fucked up plan you have.”

Felix spotted his knife lying a few inches from the bottom of the stairs. He reached for it, fingers shaking and blood dripping from his hand. “Nah, I know,” he said lightly. Keep calm, keep fighting - kill the bitch. “I just don’t care. This is one hell of a paycheck.” By the time he made it to his feet again, CT was in front of him again. He slid into a fighting stance, injured shoulder away from her, knife at the ready.

Her own blades were raised, but she didn’t move. “You have no idea,” she said quietly. “If you knew, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Alright. If she wasn’t going to attack first, then he would. He lunged and she dropped one blade to catch him by the wrist. “You can ask Texas,” she said, twisting his arm and pushing it back. He moved with her force, grunting. “If you survive long enough to find her again, ask her. Ask her what’s happening. Ask her why she left her job.”  She put more pressure on his arm while she talked, pushing and pushing until he was basically on his knees before her.

Felix snarled. His hand shook, tightening around the knife that he couldn’t use. It felt like she was going to snap his wrist in half.

She said, “I’m not going to kill you. But you might wish I had.”

His right shoulder still burned, pain lessened only to a quieter howl, but he still moved it. Pressed his fingers to the knife that rested at his hip. “Yeah, good luck with that,” he said, pulling the knife loose. “I’m pretty difficult to kill.”

Then her blade was at his throat, pressing down. He leaned away from it and the pressure on his wrist increased. Great, either way he was at her mercy - broken wrist or slit throat? Choose one.

He rejected both, spun the knife in his hands, and lunged with it. His shoulder was on fire again, burning and screaming with enough pain to piss him off, to cloud his vision - but he shoved the knife right into the side of her kneecap. He pushed it until the hilt was all that stood out. And then he yanked his wrist free, pushing himself back from her. CT was screaming and it brought a grin to his face.

Fucking finally.

Who knew all it took was a knife to the knee for her to scream?

Felix regained his footing, shook out his aching arm. He relaxed his grip on the knife, standing back to look at her. “What was that again? ‘I’m not going to kill you, but you’ll wish I had’,” he mocked. “That was a good line. You should have saved it for when you had actually, y’know, beaten me.”

CT had fallen to one knee, and she staggered back up. Her legs were shaking. Felix scoffed at her, leaned forward, and shoved one shoulder lightly. When she fell again, his grin grew wider. “Felix,” she started.

“Shut up. You can’t say anything to save yourself.”

And then she launched herself forward again, kicking off with her good leg, the blade in her hand lashing out at his legs. Felix sidestepped her attack, bringing one leg up to stomp down on her back and press her to the floor. She bucked against him and he moved his foot to stomp onto her knee instead, the one with his knife sticking out of it. She screamed again.

They were facing the door of the building now, stairs behind them. Shadows passed in the sunlight outside; he ignored it.

“Look, CT… It’s not your fault. You just drew the wrong card.” He shrugged, hissing at the lance of pain that came with the motion. “I could have just as easily killed Washington today.” He slid the knife back into its sheath, pulling the pistol out instead. He had it leveled at her head when she muttered something into the floor. “What was that? Can’t hear you when you’re eating dirt.”

“Outside,” she said, voice raised. Pain and anger laced her words, along with something else.

Felix tilted his head. “Oh, good last words. ‘Outside’. One day, I hope I can speak as well as you can. Move people to tears.”

The moans reached his ears right when his finger pressed against the trigger. He jerked his head up, eyes widening - fucking - shit.

Goddamn, he was an idiot.

Zombies, spilling in from the streets. A few at first, but he could see them past the windows, their shadows melting together in a mass that the dirty glass made impossible to count. That something else in CT’s voice was fear, and he felt it twisting around him like iron bands. He stared at the first one, intending to raise the gun.

But then CT moved under his leg and he pulled the trigger without thinking. Gunshot. Her scream. And now the zombies elevated their moans to those screams. The first few through the door started and it spread, each one picking it up until all he could hear was the dead screeching out of hunger. Felix stepped off of CT, backing up, scanning everything around him for an exit. Every window in the room was shrouded by the dead on the other side.

CT was trying to stand; her shoulder was bleeding, hanging at an angle. Her legs were still shaking. He watched her as he moved steadily backwards, gun raised and ready to fire. Watching as she tried to turn after him, watched as the first zombie got its skeletal hands around her wounded arm. He had backed through a doorway by the stairs when it ripped its teeth into her.

Felix stood where he was, rooted to the spot by the need to watch this happen. CT was screaming, face contorted with pain and fear. Another zombie was biting down on her arm, a third on her shoulder - and they just kept coming. For the moment, they were more interesting in the captured flesh than the man standing farther back.

So what if he wasn’t the one drawing her death out? This was just about as satisfying - maybe more so. He hadn’t intended to let her get eaten by the dead, but damn if it wasn’t thrilling to watch. A crawler had snagged her by the leg and was digging its teeth in. She looked his way, eyes wide and tears streaming down her face.

Felix’s grin lit up his face again. He probably looked like a madman, gleeful and grinning. She screamed his name, like  it would change anything, and a laugh spilled out of his lips. Definitely a madman. His shoulders shook, the wound pulsating, and Felix waved the gun barrel in her direction. He was tempted to say something to her, something really good, the best taunt he could have ever thought of - but the zombies had started to notice him too.

He turned from the scene, from her screaming and the zombies feeding, and headed further into the building. It wasn’t big, just tall, lots of stories. He had entered a back room at a leisurely pace, putting the gun back into its holster. Zombies were after him; he could hear their guttural screams - but not even that managed to pierce through the sense of elation.

It was like he had been given the greatest gift of his life, watching CT get torn into. He thought that he would likely not forget the look in her eyes as she had looked toward him. Good. Somehow… that was really good.

Felix found a window and slipped it open, pulling himself outside with both hands. He hit the ground right as a zombie’s hand skated over his boots. Before he left, he turned to look at it - blind, completely white eyes stared back at him from mere inches away. He dodged its hands grasping for him and took off down the street.

He could still hear the pack of them screaming as he put on speed.

CT’s screams echoed through his head.

It wasn’t until he spotted the humvee that he realized that goddamn grin had barely faded. Felix pressed himself tight against the wall of a building, just around the corner from Wash and the vehicles, and forced it back. He couldn’t look crazed right now, not when he had to deliver this news in a fashion that was believable.

He glanced back the way he had come, at his footprints in the snow. The building was far away, around a corner and up another street, but damn if zombies hadn’t filed out of the building and followed him down. Those fucking things.

Felix took a deep breath, drawing his face together in grim determination - and then he raised his gun and fired. Missed a zombie by a mile, but their voices picked up, groans turning to carrying screams again. And now that he was away from CT and had pushed everything back down, that chilled him once more. Just like it always had.

He backed away, firing again. Hit one zombie in the shoulder and then he turned. Wash stood by the humvee, staring at him, rifle in his hands. Without pausing, Felix shot another bullet - missed, drew more attention to himself - and then he was running again. Running back to Washington who looked like he wanted to ask questions.

“No time,” Felix barked when he was close enough. Wash’s mouth had fallen open and snapped closed again in an instant. “We gotta go.”

“What - ? What happened?”

Wash wasn’t moving and Felix scowled. He had just pissed off zombies on fucking purpose and this idiot was just going to stand there. Wonderful. “Just… get in the fuckin’ car, Wash.” He made for Tex’s bike, putting the gun up as he walked. “We’ve got a problem and we need to get far, far away from this place.”

Wash watched him slide the helmet over his head, frowning. “Felix… Where is Connie?”

A beat passed before he spoke. He sighed, biting back the smirk to keep it out of his voice. When he did speak, his voice was flat. Better. “She’s dead. Caught by the horde.” He didn’t wait to see Wash’s reaction, swinging onto the bike. He reached for the keys as the zombies starting spilling into the road up ahead. “Get in the humvee, Wash. And stay close.”

He started the bike, pressed on the gas, and didn’t bother to look back. He sped by the zombies, twisting the bike to avoid their grasping hands, and heard the humvee roaring after him. Underneath the helmet, Felix was grinning again.

Killing CT - watching her die and scream - it was so exhilarating. Like a weight had been pulled off his shoulders. He hoped it would settle down into relaxation, that his anger had waned enough for him to stop wanting to slice people to shreds. For now, he drove.

He drove without thinking, only seeing the light fading as the sun set down beneath the clouds. Both sides of the road were coated in white, no trees, no bushes - just a massive mountain on one side. On the other, somewhere down the side of the mountains was a twisting road that would take them to the valley below. He only pulled off when snow started falling again, forcing him to slow. There was a building up ahead and he slowed the bike to a halt in front of it.

By the time the humvee stopped beside him, Felix had his phone in his hands, gloved fingers flying over the screen. He sent Locus hurried texts that read: “CT’s dead. I killed her. No, I was going to, I wanted to, it was all set up nicely.”

And “Zombies got her, bit her, ate her - they fucking ate her and I watched it happen. It was amazing, it was exciting. Goddammit, I wish I had been able to record it. The screams alone, man. Fuckin’ chills.” He was grinning behind the helmet while he texted, heart still pounding away inside his chest. “She was crying. Looked at me like I was going to help her, like I didn’t shove a knife through her leg and watch her bleed.”

After that, Locus answered while he was in the middle of a fourth. It read, “Calm down, Felix.”

“I watched a girl get eaten and it was the greatest thing I’ve seen in weeks,” Felix answered.

Wash was watching him, standing beside the humvee. Felix ignored him, leg bouncing in the snow while he waited for Locus’s reply.

All it said was: “You’re slipping again.”

His leg stilled and his fingers slowed as he answered. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I will not clean up the mess the next time you decide to torture someone because it excites you,” Locus’s next message read. “Pull yourself together. You’re not a child. You’re not the person you used to be. Calm down. Now.”

Felix’s grin faded. He frowned at the message before sighing. Not the person he used to be. Right.

Felix was a professional.

Professionals didn’t react to someone being eaten like he had.

Wash was still looking at him, and Felix glanced up at him to see the guy’s face was drawn. He was waiting for answers, for the whole story, and Felix was currently too blitzed out of his fucking mind to have a ready excuse. Fuck.

Fuck.

“I don’t like calling it ‘slipping’,” he sent to Locus while he tried to think. “Makes me sound like I’m losing my fucking mind.”

He stared at Locus’s last message on and off for the rest of the night, torn between cursing the guy out and ignoring it completely in favor of dirty messages. Despite what Locus had said and the fact that Felix’s cover story for CT’s death was faulty and half-assed, he still felt like he riding the ends of a high.

“Don’t act like it,” the message had said. “You want to get off on torturing people again, fine. You can do that on your own. Don’t contact me again until you’ve calmed down.”

 


	11. who is the alpha

Palomo had been shot two days ago.

It was pretty clear that he was going to die, but no one wanted to say it out loud. Not with him lying in the back of the jeep, barely conscious. It was bad enough that even when he was awake it was hard to tell the difference. Palomo didn’t move much on his own and everyone else was too afraid to move him, which somehow meant that taking care of him fell to Bitters.

Which was fine and all, except that Palomo’s wound looked infected and it smelled disgusting. It was already difficult to change the dressing while the jeep was moving, but one look at the guy and Bitters was ready to quit. And then the smell had hit, sour and strong. It wasn’t bad enough to overpower everything else, or to make its way into the front where Jensen and Smith could be assaulted by it as well, but that didn’t keep it from making him retch. Bitters let the used dressing fall back over the wound, disgusted.

Jensen glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “What are you doing?” she asked. She sounded tired and annoyed and very, very worried. “You’re supposed to change it.”

“Yeah, well, it smells horrible,” Bitters shot back. “We can switch and you can do this. You did pretty well the first time.”

“She threw up twice,” Smith said. He twisted around in his seat, frowning. He looked about as tired as Jensen sounded, shadows under his eyes.

Bitters grumbled curses under his breath, ignoring Smith and his constant defense of Jensen. Palomo’s wound hadn’t even been that bad when she did it because Bitters had done the initial cleaning of it and had more blood on his hands than he had ever wanted. He gripped the wound’s dressing again, pulled it back, and scrunched his face up at the smell. “It needs to be cleaned again,” he said. “And we don’t have the supplies for that. Not going to do a lot of good when all we do is put fresh gauze on it - don’t exactly have a lot of that left, either. If you’re going to drive, why don’t you try and find someone who can actually help him?”

“I am looking!” she snapped. “I’ve been looking, but there’s nothing out here!”

She sounded like she might start crying and Bitters rolled his eyes. He reached to the floor where four bottles of water rolled around on the ground. If they weren’t going to find a way to clean the wound, then fine. Someone could sacrifice some water because like hell he was going to sit here and let an infection steal Palomo’s life away. He was already dying. No need to make it a nasty death.

The gunshot was at the side of his stomach, went straight through him and left two different sized holes to deal with and clean. It was frustrating for Bitters to take care of the mess because they had propped Palomo up against blankets and pillows and his blood got everywhere. It was awkward to maneuver in the back of the jeep and not hurt him worse, which usually led to Bitters trying to avoid kneeling on the floor or straddling his dying friend - or both, sometimes it could actually be both and those were the worst.

Everytime he thought they had stopped the bleeding, it started up again, seeping through the bandages and the gauze, staining everything a deep red. They kept him covered with a blanket when they weren’t fixing the wound, but he still shivered even though he was sweating all the fucking time.

It was gross, it was horrible, and Palomo was dying.

There were no clean rags left, which was another goddamn issue. It was so hard to try and prevent an infection when everything they owned was dirty. And that, Bitters reflected, was part of the reason Palomo had one in the first place. Because that wound was infected, he knew that as soon as he pressed the wet rag down and felt the heat through it, heard Palomo whimper. He just hoped there wasn’t going to be any discharge. If anything came out of the wound besides blood, he was going to vomit on Smith’s head for not doing anything to help.

Two days ago, Palomo had been fine. He had been noisy, and annoying, and wrestling with Bitters in the snow over something stupid. Smith was packing up, Jensen was laughing at the two of them, and Bitters had smashed Palomo’s face into the snow.

Then Palomo had settled on that damn bike, grinning like a jackass. He’d had his hands on the handlebars, ready to go - and then he wasn’t. All it took was one gunshot, and Palomo had fallen over the side of the bike with this look of shock on his face. There was blood on the bike, on the ground, spreading everywhere, and someone had screamed. Jensen, maybe. All Bitters really knew was that he had stood there, like an idiot, staring at Palomo bleeding on the ground.

He remembered helping Smith carry him into the jeep, and how Smith had said they couldn’t stay here because there was a van on the horizon that was speeding their way. Palomo had been crying, kind of - strangled sobs that started to sound like he was choking the longer they went on and it was a relief when he had stopped and fallen unconscious.

Jensen might sound tired now, and Smith might look tired, but Bitters had only slept about four hours overall since the gunshot went off. It was hard to sleep when he was in the backseat with a dying idiot. Especially when that idiot was liable to wake up at any time and make the world’s most pathetic noises, soft cries and whimpers and half-formed words that were impossible to understand. Bitters spent his nights comforting Palomo until he fell back asleep, staring out the window, at the floor, at anything that wasn’t Palomo and his goddamn wound.

He cleaned the wound as fast as he could, whispering things to Palomo every time the guy made a noise. Told him it was fine, that Bitters was almost done and then he could go back to sleep. That he was sorry he couldn’t give over painkillers - and he really wished he could; Palomo’s face was kind of stuck in the most painful expression he’d even worn. If it hurt to look at, Bitters could only imagine what it felt like. He pressed down hard with the rag, making sure nothing else going to come seeping out, and Palomo gave another one of those pathetic cries, so quiet Bitters barely heard it.

He said, “Shut up, you idiot. I’m trying to help.”

Jensen made a disapproving noise up front and Bitters ignored her. He only moved to put the medkit in his lap, and started redressing Palomo’s wounds. When he glanced at Palomo after finishing, he was met with a tired gaze. And tears. There were tears in Palomo’s eyes and that was distressing. “Don’t look at me like that,” Bitters said. “I’d give you painkillers if you kept anything down long enough for it work.”

Ever since he’d been shot, Palomo could barely keep water down. And with them driving nonstop, only stopping to sleep, all they ate now was the rationed meals they had. There weren’t a lot of those left and whenever they had tried to feed Palomo any, he’d vomit it back up within an hour. Which meant that while Bitters cleaned him, he would add starvation and dehydration to the list of things that were killing Palomo slowly.

He was practically in the floor right now, feeling the vibrations of the engine through the floor. When he started to move back to the seat where he could squeeze in near Palomo’s feet, the jeep started slowing. Bitters leaned up between the two front seats. “Why are you slowing?”

Jensen’s answer was hesitant. “We’re, uh… running out of gas.”

“Out of gas,” Bitters repeated loudly. Anger snapped in his gut instantly, breaking past the somber mood he’d been in, the straight face he kept up so Palomo’s dumbass didn’t freak out.

“Are there any extra gas cans - ?”

“No,” he said shortly. “There’s nothing. We’ve got three bottles of water, four ration meals, and a dying guy back here.”

“Bitters.” Smith’s voice rose more than his did, and the look he gave was downright murderous. “You’re not helping.”

“You’re not trying to pretend he’s fine, are you?”

“It’s not the time - “

“It’s the perfect time,” Bitters said, glaring. Jensen starting saying something to calm them both down, and he ignored her, readying to snap something else at Smith. His friend was dying, and Smith acted like saying it was what made it true. Maybe if he had ever bothered to come back here and see for himself, if he had ever laid his hands on Palomo’s wound and felt the unnatural heat of it, he’d know.

If they sat here, Palomo died.

Hell, Palomo was probably going to die no matter what they did and that pissed Bitters off so much that his hands curled into fists and his nails cut into his palms. Before he could say anything, a hand snagged his coat loosely. He turned back and looked straight at Palomo. Those stupid pain-filled eyes staring at him.

Palomo said, “What… what’s goin’ on?” His voice was shaky, quiet, and Bitters sank back onto the floor beside him. “...Bitters?”

“It’s nothing,” Bitters answered. He pulled Palomo’s hand from his coat easily, set it back on the seat, and reached to pull the blanket back over him. “It’s fine, we just… we’re gonna get help.”

Palomo didn’t look like he believed that at all. Well… underneath the confusion and the pain, and looking at him made Bitters’ chest clench.

“We’re gonna find someone,” he said. He knew it was a lie, and it still came. Give false hope to the dying kid, yeah, totally alright move on his part. He placed a hand on Palomo’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. Jensen and Smith had fallen quiet, and all he had was his thoughts and Palomo fuckin’ staring at him. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Palomo said something that too quiet for him to hear but he could swear it was either ‘you’re lying’ or okay’ - and both of those were different. Even a different amount of syllables but it didn’t matter because Bitters wasn’t sure which one would be worse. Knowing Palomo, it was probably his blind optimism. Gunshot to the stomach, dying and bleeding and infected, and he was still the same guy. Stupid. Bitters sat there, legs starting to ache from how he was sitting, and then decided he needed some fucking air. He moved, pushing the door at Palomo’s feet open and jumping out into the snow. Before he slammed the door, he caught Jensen’s voice calling his name.

The jeep had stopped in the middle of a road that weaved along the mountain valleys. Everything was so covered in snow that they only way Bitters could recognize it as a road was the fact that it was the only flat surface. The sparse trees on either side had no leaves, branches weighed down with snow. They grew on rising hills, giving the illusion of deeper snow piling around the trunks. Bitters headed up through the trees, glancing back when he heard footsteps - Jensen, jogging after him.

He turned back to the trees, pushing forward. Now that he was away from Palomo and that constant look of hurt in his eyes, the anger was back. It wasn’t like his usual anger, the vague irritation that he could detach from easily - this was like some all encompassing wave that had risen out of nowhere. And he couldn’t seem to shake it off.

Jensen had reached his side by then. “What are you doing?” she asked. She hadn’t bothered to grab a heavy coat when she had left, and was pulling the sleeves of her shirt down.

“I thought it’d be nice to take a walk,” he answered, voice flat but eyes burning. “Y’know, see the sights, get a feel for the land before Palomo fucking dies.”

Jensen frowned, looking like she was going to burst into tears and beat Bitters with his own limbs at the same time. She said, “You don’t have to act like this.”

“What, do you want me to tell him more bullshit? That it’s all going to be fine and we’ll find some way to take care of him?” He scowled at her, at her reaction - sympathetic faces, quiet words that she stumbled over - and whirled to punch the nearest tree. It did nothing to release anger, didn’t do anything but make the lightest pain flare over his knuckles. He cursed once, quietly, then again louder.

“Bitters,” Jensen said. Her hand landed on his shoulder and he shook it off. “Come back to the jeep, okay? We’re gonna figure out what to do now.”

Bitters knew what they had to do next - what the logical thing to do would be - and that terrified him. Like a spike straight through to his anger, or maybe all that anger was just fear and worry and - “This is fucked up,” he spat, running his hands through his hair and glancing back at Jensen. “You know that, right? What we have to do? It’s fucked up.”

“We don’t have to,” she said instantly. “I know what you’re thinking, okay, and - and maybe we can - “

“We can’t do anything!” he said, voice rising. “Palomo is dying. He’s dying, and the wound is infected -”

“Infected?”

“Yeah, you’d know that if you and Smith ever decided to pay attention to him.”

Jensen was glaring now, tears at the corners of her eyes. “We’re not going to shoot him,” she said quietly. Her voice shook. “We can’t shoot him.”

They could, of course they could. They would have to, when he died, to prevent him from coming back and attacking them. And now, of course, that was all Bitters could picture. The reanimated shell of Palomo, drooling blood and lunging for him. It was something that Bitters was going to avoid at all costs, even if it meant he would have to shoot the guy in one of those heavy fever-induced sleeps.

He wasn’t going to let Palomo turn into one of those things.

But he didn’t want to shoot Palomo either.

Bitters’ eyes were burning and the next breath he took was shaky. Jensen reached for him, taking one of his hands in hers and squeezing. “He’s our friend, too,” she said.

“Yeah. ‘Cause that’ll help in the long run.”

And then, before either of them could say anything, the quiet was shattered by a sudden gunshot. The first thing Bitters thought of was the jeep, of that wounded idiot lying helpless in its backseat, but the noise had come from the opposite direction. A small cluster of birds had taken off at the gunshot, stark against the grey sky.

Bitters started toward the noise at a jog, ignoring Jensen asking him what he was doing. Because as far as he was concerned, gunshots meant people and people could mean someone with actual fucking medicinal skills. It was a long shot, a stupid thing to place even a shred of hope in, but he was moving before he could second-guess himself. After a few seconds, Jensen was at his side, no longer asking questions.

He heard them before he saw them. The groan of a zombie, snide laughter, and cursing. Loud cursing. Someone practically shouted, “ _Goddammit!_ These fucking zombies!”

A second voice answered, “Man, if you could shoot, this wouldn’t keep happening.”

“Go fuck yourself,” the first voice said.

The second gunshot went off when Bitters and Jensen stopped a short range from two men. Both wore heavy winter gear, faces covered except for their eyes. One of them held a pistol and it looked like there was a sword strapped to his hip - a fucking sword. His pistol was smoking, still pointed at the zombie on the ground. The other man held only a sniper rifle; his pants leg was torn, blood soaking through the fabric. There was a walkie-talkie on each of their hips. A dead elk lay a few feet behind them.

They looked at Bitters and Jensen in silence until the bleeding man muttered, “Oh, fuck.”

The other, he said, “Dude, it’s a girl.”

“Tucker, shut up.“

“A _girl.”_

Jensen was frowning. She glanced at Bitters, confusion swimming in her eyes, then back at the two men. The one called Tucker hadn’t lowered his gun, but his gaze was locked onto her. “Uhm,” Jensen started. “We, uhm…”

When she trailed off, Bitters blurted out, “Are you bit?”

The guy said “No” at the exact same time Tucker said “Yeah.”

Bitters swore, Tucker laughed, and the bleeding man started cursing so loudly he was basically screaming. Jensen muttered something that was lost in the noise the other three were making. Bitters was starting to regret checking out the source of the gunshot. If it had led them to some bitten asshole, then what the fuck was the point?

The bleeding guy was still cursing when the walkie-talkie on his belt crackled to life, another voice calling one word over and over: “Church! ...Church?”

He pointedly ignored it, walking over to the elk instead. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem at all bothered that he had been bitten - well, he was still grumbling under his breath and seemed to be growing more agitated with each step. Bitters was watching him while Jensen’s attention was split between him and the other one, Tucker.

“We just… we were just hoping someone could help us,” she was saying to Tucker. “Our friend is hurt, and you two are the first people we’ve seen in over a week.”

Tucker had holstered the pistol and nodded. “Uh huh. Yeah, sounds rough - hold on a sec.” He spun around to the other guy and said, “Church! Will you answer that fuckin’ idiot? He’s not going to shut up unless you do!”

The only answer he got was, “Help me with this thing, would you?”

Bitters exchanged a look with Jensen. This wasn’t working out like he had wanted - one guy was bitten, the second one was pretty much leering at Jensen, and none of this did a damned thing to help Palomo. It was bullshit and that same fear-strangled anger he had experienced a few minutes ago was building again. Bitters glared at the pair as Tucker started over to help with the dead elk. He said, loudly, “Why aren’t you doing anything about a zombie bite?”

Tucker looked up but it was the other one, Church, who answered. “Just go away, kid,” he said. “I don’t have time for this shit.” He had the elk by its antlers, raising its head up so that the gunshot between its eyes was visible. The voice over the walkie-talkie on his belt was talking about muffins and dogs and Church ignored it all to ask Tucker were the hell they had parked.

“What? No, dude, Lopez took the jeep, remember? We’re gonna have to pull this thing back.”

“No, fuck that.” Church looked back at Bitters and Jensen, squinting at them like he was hoping they weren’t real. “Okay. Tell you what. There is no way in fuckin’ hell I am draggin’ this stupid fucking elk back with us. You got a ride, you can come with us - but not to my side, not a goddamn chance. Got enough noise with Caboose, don’t need anyone else.”

Jensen looked like she was going to say something, like about how their jeep wasn’t doing so great on gas, but Bitters elbowed her violently. She frowned at him, rubbing her side, while he said that yes, absolutely. They could use the jeep to get the elk back. “But only if someone can look at our friend,” he said.

When Tucker spoke again, it sounded like he was grinning. “Sure. Church has to get his newest bite checked out anyway.” He was laughed when Church groaned in response, complaining about the medic they had on hand - but if they had a medic, then that was great. Suddenly, these two strange guys and the bite that was still dripping blood down Church’s leg didn’t matter at all. They had a medic. The smallest spark of hope spread through Bitters’ chest - because a medic meant that maybe, by some miracle, Palomo wouldn’t have to die a horrible death after all.

* * *

CT’s death hung between them, suspended by unseen strings and impossible to take down. Even after Felix told the story he had decided on, it was there and it wouldn’t leave. He had left out her rant, his own response, the fact that they fought and how he had lost a knife by shoving it through her kneecap. What he told Wash was that he and CT had found a trio of murdered people and that, while they tried to figure out who had killed them, the zombies had come.

He said CT had fallen through a rotten floor and injured her leg which was why she couldn’t run. And he could see the doubt in Wash’s face. Knowing the damn girl, CT was probably too good at avoiding injuries for that to be entirely plausible.

It would have to do, though, because Felix had already said it. No going back. His own wounds, he said, he got because he had to break a window to escape. Wash helped clean the one that CT had left on his face and Felix tried not to think that the last person who had gripped his face like this was Locus. He tried not to think about Wash’s hands on his face at all. Just like he tried not to think about how close together they slept that night.

It was snowing again, hard, snow falling so thick that it was hard to see, and Felix had actually run out to drag Tex’s bike into the building they were in. The fire sputtered out in the middle of the night and after he couldn’t get it to start back up, Felix went to where Wash was sleeping. He had laid down beside the guy quietly, slipping the boots off despite the freezing cold, but then Wash was awake, rolling over and staring at Felix in confusion. He was tired, brow furrowed - it was the most adorable expression and Felix sighed.

“Fires out,” he said quietly. “It’s freezing.”

And then he watched Wash settle back down and raise the blanket that covered him, offering it. Felix didn’t move and Wash said, quietly, “For warmth?”

Which found Felix sharing three blankets with Washington, pressed against the other man’s back. There wasn’t a need for a watch, but he couldn’t sleep. Killing CT had definitely alleviated his anger and frustration to the point that he was nearly calm again, but he kept going over the conversation with Locus. Kept thinking about how, apparently, he was losing his goddamn mind.

Locus had said he was slipping. Again. He wasn’t supposed to contact him until he was better, and he didn’t even know what that meant. Maybe Locus just wanted silence from him until they met again. Whenever the fuck that was.

He lay awake for hours, feeling Wash breathing at an even pace, staring at nothing, and thinking. Lying as they were, Felix couldn’t stop himself from thinking that if he was sleeping like this with Locus then the cold would probably not matter. That even if Locus didn’t sound too pleased with Felix’s behavior, that if it wasn’t Wash beside him, Felix could roll over and curl into Locus’s warmth and that Locus’s arms would just slide right around him. It’d be perfect, because while Washington offered a degree of heat, it wasn’t enough.

Felix fell asleep thinking of Locus, and how fucking annoying the guy was being lately. But, even with that, the things he would do to have Locus there instead of Wash was terrible. He woke with his chest aching dimly, feeling Wash moving against his back.

Through the tired haze, he felt the gunshot wound in his shoulder throbbing lowly again; the cut on his face stung and the one across his hand flared when his fingers twitched. He whined quietly, wishing that he was still asleep and that Washington could settle the fuck back down. Neither was going to happen; Wash had tossed back the blankets and the cold air rushed in to take his place, effectively ruining any chance that Felix would have had of falling back asleep. So he joined Wash for a breakfast of rations and freezing cold water.

Wash said he was going to check the humvee, to make sure the snowstorm last night hadn’t messed anything up. Sounded like bullshit. He said, “You… you should stay here. Y’know, to keep pressure off the wound.”

And then he knew it was bullshit. “Whatever you say,” he said lightly. Eyes narrowing, Felix watched Wash as he exited the building. There was no need to check out that car, he could bet on it. It was a fucking military vehicle and Felix chose to believe that it was going to take a lot more than one snowstorm to take that thing out. Keeping Felix inside, away from him - yeah, that sealed it.

Kind of a strange excuse for mourning the loss of his friend, but whatever. Wash could do what he wanted. He could sit out there and think about the poor dead girl if he wanted, for as long as he wanted. Felix set aside his half-eaten ration, bringing his phone out. The messages from Locus were still up, still accusing him of losing his mind, and Felix made a face at the screen.

He was calm. He had made himself calm, and he was absolutely in no fuckin’ way “slipping”.

Felix gave Wash five minutes on his own before he kicked the door open. The typical freezing cold air met him, but the skies were clear. “Hey, Wash. We should get going.”

Wash withdrew from inside the humvee’s backseat. The look he gave Felix was nothing short of disdain. And distrust, of course, hadn’t thrown that around enough. “How much longer?” he asked flatly.

To get to Kimball’s, at a pace as slow as they had been going, might take them three more days. But to the coordinates locked in Felix’s phone… “Should get there before nightfall,” he answered. “But only if we leave now.”  

Wash was nodding as the door to the humvee closed. “Right. I’ll get the bike - “

“I think I can handle that,” Felix interrupted. “I brought it inside, I’ll bring it outside, and then we’ll drive off into the horizon.”

But then Wash had rounded the humvee, pushing Felix back, away from the door. “I’ll get the bike,” he repeated. There was a look in his eyes that commanded Felix to shut up, to listen to what Wash had to say, and not to argue against it. And Felix bit back his usual reaction, forced himself not to argue pointlessly. He just threw his hands up in defeat, taking a couple of steps back. Wash reentered the building, coming back out quickly to hand a rifle to Felix - and then he disappeared again.

When he came out with the bike, he handed Felix the helmet as well. Neither of them said a thing while they finished preparing to leave. Before Wash could disappear into the humvee again, Felix said, “Stay close. We’re gonna have to go down one of these mountains very soon.” He gazed down at the valley below, squinting and raking the landscape below. Almost everything was white. Nothing stood out, but according to the GPS, they were so close that he should see something. Buildings, people - anything. “Try not to drive off a cliff,” he added, settling onto the bike again.

They started forward and Felix led them down the nearest steep mountain road. Snow flared under the bike’s tires at each sharp turn, but he hardly bothered to slow down at all. The humvee trailed after him at a much more reasonable pace. Once Felix pulled onto a level road that led through the valley, both of them sped up. Felix pressed on the gas, in a hurry to reach this damn camp.

The mountain was still rising at their backs when they stopped for lunch. It wasn’t anything special - cold meat, rations, plain water - because neither of them wanted to bother with making a fire. Wash said it was too much work, took too much time, and they were so close that there wasn’t a point. Felix’s shoulder was still throbbing dully. He had run out of painkillers last night and whatever put less strain on his arm was alright with him. “GPS says we’ve got less than one hundred miles,” he said as they ate. “You gonna spend the rest of our short time together in silence?”

Wash glanced over at him. “Not in the mood to talk,” he said. There was a pause, then he sighed and set down his food. “Are you sure you’re taking us the right way?”

Felix nodded. “ ‘Course I am.”

“There’s a compass in the humvee, Felix. It says we’re going west.”

“We are.”

“Kimball’s isn’t west.”

“Oh, you know where it is?” he snorted. “That’s great, ‘cause I was under the impression that I was the only one of us who knew. Kind of why I’m alive, isn’t it? Lead you to Kimball’s?”

“I know it’s over the Canadian border,” Wash said. “I learned that much from Connie.”

“Nothing wrong with going west,” Felix said evasively. He ran through all the things he could say - things about CT, about what she had been planning, the things she had said. Letting Wash know about her plans would be the best choice if he was going to kill Wash right here. But his shoulder was still aching, and Wash had a pistol on his hip and a rifle over his shoulder. He settled for saying, “We’ll get to Kimball’s. If you still want to go, we’ll get there.”

In the silence that fell, Felix kicked at snow with one foot and hoped they would leave soon. Silences with Wash were getting awkward. Not that they hadn’t always been, but it was multiplied tenfold without CT there to force some conversation out of them. He never would have guessed that her conversational skills were the only thing he would have missed about the girl.

A sudden image of her dying flashed across his eyes, of a zombie pulling away from her with flesh and blood trailing from its jaw. The tortured look on her face. The pain in her eyes. The tears.

She hadn’t been much for anything in the end, and Felix actually almost laughed at the memory.

Wow, okay. He had to reel that bullshit back before it got out of hand again.

Felix pulled the helmet back on, slid onto the bike, calm. Gripped the handlebars with steady hands. He was getting ready to start it when Wash called out from the humvee, “Why are we going west? Just tell me that, at least.”

He paused, fingers twitching. Fuck it. He had never actually explained who Locus was anyway. “Supposed to meet my partner. Like, actually meet him this time, not be fucked over by zombies.” He started the bike before Wash could say anything else. He didn’t want to talk about Locus, didn’t want to think about Locus. Because if life was good for him for once, Locus would be at this camp and that would be it.

He drove without stopping, hours upon hours, even when his stomach started urging him to stop and eat. When he finally slowed, he eased back to only ten miles an hour before stopping completely. He was staring at the phone in his hand as the humvee pulled up beside him, window lowering.

“Felix?”

“GPS says we’re here.”

He looked up from the phone at their surroundings - woods, only the woods. Rising hills covered in snow. He cut the bike’s engine at the same time Wash turned off the humvee and what he was met with was silence. The air was still, not even the wind to whistle through the dead trees that surrounded them.

Yet the GPS was listing this as his destination.

Felix stood with Washington, side by side in the center of the road, and sighed. “You wouldn’t happen to see, y’know… anything?”

“Zombies to the right,” Wash answered. “A few to the left as well.”

“Fantastic.” His options here were go left, or go right, or call Texas. None of those sounded good and he was still standing there trying to figure something out when Wash turned back to the humvee. “Uh… What are you doing?”

Wash opened the back of the humvee, pulled out a pack and threw it over his shoulders with his rifle. When he came back to Felix, he held another in one hands - Felix’s pack, much lighter than it had been weeks ago. Felix pulled it on without question and waited. Wash spoke only after he looked over Felix’s shoulder and into the woods on their left. “Saw movement over there. Not a walker. I'm not going to stand here and wait for someone or something to find us, so we're going to go and check it out.”

Hard to argue with that. “Look at you, givin’ orders,” he said as they started through the trees.

“You weren’t moving. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh? Got anymore?”

“Sure.” He nodded toward a pair of zombies that had spotted them. “Go kill those.”

Felix laughed shortly and slid the knife from his side. “Don’t make a habit of ordering me around, sweetheart.” He moved past Wash, walking at a leisurely pace to the zombies in question. Snow was piled on their shoulders and their clothes, ice hanging in their hair. He slid the knife through an eye on each of them. From there, he moved ahead of Wash to stab through the brain any zombies that were a bit too close for comfort.

It took a few minutes, but they stumbled onto a locked gate connected to stone walls that were almost the same color as the snow. No wonder neither of them had spied the place from the road. A small, worn down tower rose over the gate, and in that tower was a man clad in a light blue winter coat. And in his hands was a sniper rifle. Felix stopped where he was, letting Wash fall in front of him. They crept forward, and the rifle followed their movements. Felix reached out to lay a hand on Wash’s shoulder, dragging it slowly down his back and making the other man freeze.

“Don’t touch me,” Wash said quietly.

“Sniper,” Felix whispered back.

“I can see that. Get your hand off me before I break your fingers.”

Felix pulled back, moved back a couple of steps. “Last time I save your life,” he muttered. He smiled at the annoyed look Wash gave him, his expression hidden by the helmet. He stopped moving, folding his arms over his chest and watching Wash move forward slowly. It looked as if Wash was pressing his limits with this sniper, just seeing how far he could go before getting shot.

The man with the rifle didn’t fire until Wash stopped a foot from the gate. The round sank into the snow off to Wash’s left, and the shooter yelled, “That was your warning shot! Get the fuck away from here.”

Wash said, “We’re not here to cause trouble.”

Another shot went off, this one burying itself three inches from Felix. “Both of you. Get. The fuck. Away.”

Felix sighed, edging forward just a bit. The third round went off as he was moving and missed both of them entirely. “This guy can’t shoot,” he said quietly to Wash. “I could scale that wall and punch him in the throat before he could shoot either of us - and I’m factoring the wounded shoulder into that.”

Wash threw him a look that was probably meant to shut him up. There was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes, though, and Felix took that look to heart. An amused Wash was just so much better than the angry, pissy, don’t-touch-me act he usually went with.  

The man said, “Don’t make me unleash the attack dog!” As if on cue, a flurry of angry barks and growls rose beyond the gate. Felix craned his neck to try and get a view, but all he saw was an overweight man sitting on a crate and eating what looked suspiciously like a burger. That guy raised one hand and flipped him off.

And then another man lumbered into view, tall, jacket pulled up to hide his face. In his arms was a dog - a big dog, the source of the growling and barking. This man stopped when he saw Felix and Wash, the widening of his eyes visible even from behind the gate. He looked from them to the man in the tower and shouted, “Church! Who are they?”

The man with the rifle groaned. The gun in his hands lowered just a bit. “Nobody,” he snapped.

“Ah, no. They do not look like ‘nobody’.”

“How about ‘dead’?” the overweight man called out. “Do they look dead? They shouldn’t, ‘cause this asshole can’t shoot for shit.”

And at that, the man spun around, dropping the rifle down to his side. He was facing away from Wash and Felix now, shouting at the overweight guy down below - mostly insults and curses that were met with a sly grin and laughter.

The guy with the dog said, “They do not look dead. Not like the other dead people that you and Tucker shoot at. Those are smelly, and one of them dropped an arm.”

The overweight guy said something that didn’t carry over the distance and Wash sighed. Felix glanced at him, watched as he brought a hand to his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. To be honest, Felix wouldn’t mind standing here and watching all three of these idiots argue pointlessly, but it was getting dark. On top of that, Tex’s bike and the humvee were still sitting on the road. There wasn't really a threat of theft with the dead being the only thing around, but being so far away from the guns that were packed into the humvee was disconcerting.

Looked like Felix was going to have to end this early. He reached up, undoing the helmet and sliding it off. Wash looked up at the motion and Felix pressed the helmet into his hands. He pulled the gloves off his hands, frowning as the cold air instantly assaulted his fingers, and then pressed two to his mouth and whistled sharply. Every head turned to him, even the dog. “Hey! Yeah, hello! I’m looking for someone, maybe you’ve seen her?”

Wash was frowning beside him, like he didn’t understand. Which would be disappointing because Felix was starting to think the guy was pretty smart.

“No girls here,” the sniper said sourly. “You’ve got the wrong place.”

“Really? That’s a pity. See, I was traveling with her - got a little separated, which is why I’m here with Washington instead.” It was hard to miss how the guy’s posture tightened instantly, how he went from leaning lazily over the edge of the tower to straightening up again. Felix grinned and patted Wash on the shoulder. “Yeah, I know - state names are weird, right? This girl I’m looking for, she wanted my help to find an old friend of hers. Or… an old boyfriend, actually.”

The dog had leapt out of the man’s hands by now, trotting up the gate and sniffing at the bottom of it. The man he had left was looking up into the tower, watching the other guy. Almost like he was waiting for a reaction.

At least, that’s what Felix hoped. Because he was stringing this along perfectly. The look that pitiful sniper was giving him was one of his favorites - brows drawn, eyes wide, disbelief and suspicion all over.

Felix said, “My friend - her name is Texas, I might have forgotten to mention that - she gave me these coordinates. It’d be a shame if I couldn’t help her out.”

That last sentence wasn’t even needed. As soon as he had said Texas, the idiot in the tower had lowered his gun completely. He still looked at them with a hell of a lot of suspicion, but the disbelief had vanished with her name. Holy shit, transparent as hell. He said, “You know Tex?”

Felix’s grin widened and he nodded. “Absolutely! Come out of your tower, princess. Let us in, and I’ll prove it.”

“Shouldn’t have called him princess,” Wash muttered.

Felix elbowed him to shut him up, but he was right. The guy’s expression had warped back to that glare from earlier and he absolutely refused. Which was a pain in the ass. So, Felix pulled his phone out, raised it high enough for the guy to know what it was. “I can call her,” he said. “But only if you get your ass out of the tower so we can talk like normal human beings.”

It took only a minute for him to descend, bursting out of the bottom of it on their side of the gate. The sniper rifle was thrown over his back on a strap, barely cutting into the jacket he wore. He regarded both of them with a guarded suspicion that was even more obvious on the ground, eyes moving from one weapon to the next. He even considered the shotgun sitting in Felix’s pack before actually looking at either of them. His eyes were sharp, though Felix was sure that didn’t mean he was necessarily smart - maybe just observant. Maybe neither. Maybe this guy was just gifted with the bright eyes of a predator.

He said, “So who the fuck are you? And how do you know Texas?”

Felix didn’t answer. He only brought up his phone and snapped a photo of the guy. Neither he nor Wash looked too happy with this turn of events; Wash mostly looked annoyed. “Felix,” he said. “is the idiot with the phone. My name is Washington. I used to work with Texas.”

Felix nodded along with the introductions, sending the photo to Tex with the caption ‘This guy seems to know you.’ All he had to do now was wait.

Wash asked the guy who he was, and he hesitated before answering, looking over at the phone in Felix’s hands. “...Name’s Church,” he said finally.

“You should practice more with the rifle, Church,” Felix said brightly.

Church growled, “Shut up.”

“Drop it, Felix,” Wash added. “We’re trying to get on his good side.”

Felix ignored them both and spread his arm at their surroundings. “Look at all these walking dead! You’ve got a tower! Provided you have the ammo, sit up there and take some practice shots. Learn to land some shots - even if they aren’t headshots. Shooting the right places can save your life, you know.”

“I said shut the fuck up,” Church snapped.

Goddamn, this was an ornery fucker. He thought about this guy being with Tex - big, mean, scary Tex, ass kicker extraordinaire - and had to fight back laughter because it was just too perfect. It figured that someone like Texas couldn’t have normal taste in men. No, she had to find the angry ones.

Fuckin’ great.

The phone rang in his hands then and before he could even say anything, Texas was demanding that he let her talk to this Church fucker. Instead of that, Felix said, “Hey! Been missin’ you! Where the hell are you?”

“Felix! Give him the phone!” she barked.

At the same time, Church said, “Is that her? Gimme the phone!”

Felix edged behind Washington, asked Texas if she was enjoying her ride - where she was, what she had been doing, why it was taking her so long to get here - and then Church jumped forward to try and snatch the phone out of his hands. He dodged Church, laughing at Texas, and heard Washington sigh deeply.

“I am surrounded by children,” Wash deadpanned. “Irritating, stupid children.”

On the other side of the fence, the dog was barking and the tall man had rushed to the gate. He was shouting something - it might have been encouragement to his friend, but it just sounded like nonsense. It was a lot of noise and while it was fun at first, Felix caved and handed the phone over to Church.

Church snatched the phone from him and waved for the two of them to follow him through the door at the base of the tower. When he shut the door, they were in darkness for a split second before dim fluorescent lights kicked on above their heads. A staircase was directly in front of them, leading up to the tower; snow coated its steps in a light frost. Across from them was another door, opening to inside of the gate.

Around the staircase was a long tunnel, lights leading down and down until they hit a turn. Pipes lined the ceiling on either side of the lights, and from where he stood, Felix could see two other doors down that way. The only noise was the humming of the lights overhead and Church’s conversation with Texas. He was effectively ignoring the two of them now. He squeezed between the wall and Washington, walking down the tunnel and clearly intending for them to follow him.

The floor was caked with rust or dirt, or both, and it crunched quietly underneath their feet. Old scraps of paper littered the floor, squashed down into a path that could have only been made by years of feet walking over them time and time again. The first door, Church passed by without even looking. Someone had spray-painted “BROKEN. CALL LOPEZ TO FIX.” but the paint was faded and Felix wondered who the fuck Lopez was and if he had ever gotten around to fixing that door.

Also why someone would have painted that on a door instead of just… y’know… telling Lopez themselves.

At the second door, Church stopped and pushed against it. When it didn’t open, he cursed, lowering the phone with a quick “Hey, hang on a sec.” And then he was kicking at the steel door, the dull clangs of each kick echoing down the small tunnel. He screamed, “Tucker! Open the fucking door, you jackass!”

It took a few more kicks, but the door was pulled open with a screech. On the other side stood an angry, shirtless black man who wasted absolutely no time in calling Church an inconsiderate dickweed. A short hallway extended past him, the door at the end hanging open an inch.

Church scowled at him. “Why are you shirtless again? Go put on clothes! No one wants to see your without them.”

“Fuckin’ Donut was over here messing with the temperature again. Thinks it’s too cold on our side and somehow this bothers him.”

Church paused, sighed, and said, “Don’t care. Put a goddamn shirt on.” Then he raised the phone to his ear. “Tex, I - ...Tex? Ohhh, that fuckin’ bitch. She hung up on me!”

Felix leaned past Washington and pulled his phone out of Church’s grasp, thanking him politely for giving it back in such a timely manner.

After that, Church turned out to be the worst tour guide that Felix had ever met. He introduced the black man as Tucker, said he would try to fuck any girl that came within seventy feet of him, and that he probably had an STD. In answer, Tucker ‘accidentally’ shut the next door on Church’s foot.

The next room was wide open, with large windows on either wall that showed nothing but snow outside. A couple of tables stood in the center of the room, chairs pulled up to them, tops covered with magazines and scattered cards. Along one wall was a serious of lockers, most of which had broken doors; by the lockers was one large gun cabinet. Its doors were opened, showing the inside to be mostly empty. There were two old couches along the other wall. Church said, “This is the entrance. In case you couldn’t tell by the giant door.”

The man with the dog had come inside, sitting at one of the tables and holding a magazine in one hand. The other hand scratched the head of the giant dog sitting at his feet. He glanced up and grinned. “Hello, Church! Are they our friends now?”

“Yeah, sure,” Church muttered. He said that this was Caboose, the dog was Freckles, and that Caboose was the single stupidest person he had ever met. “He’s shot me like three times. It’s why he’s not given guns anymore.”

Seated at his table, Caboose muttered something that sounded like, “Tucker did it,” which prompted Tucker to snatch the magazine out of his hands and swat him in the head with it. The dog, Freckles, growled.

“That’s the meanest dog that has ever lived,” Church said. “I hope it dies a horrible death.”  

He led them to the sealed door at the other end of the room. There was an honest-to-God keycode that he had to enter before large steel locks pulled back with a hiss of the old systems running it. When Church pushed it open, there was a staircase right behind it, heading down and lit by flickering overhead lights. Beside Felix, Wash muttered, “Jesus Christ” in a low tone. He added, louder, “Are you seriously going to tell me that you guys are staying in this place?”

Church was already starting down the steps and called over his shoulder, “Would you just come the fuck on? I have a lot more that I’d rather be doin’ than showing you assholes around.”

Felix started down, Wash right after him. Wash was talking quietly, telling Felix that if his suspicions were correct then this entire place was an old military outpost. They had cropped up all over the place during the first few years after civilization got its roots back, Felix knew that. It was all a part of history lessons at school. The zombies took over, and when humanity started to beat the dead back, the military was its main resource.

Outposts and forts were hastily made out of whatever was around, whatever was deemed strong enough to handle the burden of a military force. And when the government started applying its hazard zone numbers and redlining towns and cities - and, eventually, the states in the west - the military moved out. All that was left of their presence were the old, crumbling outposts. For one of those things to still be working was a miracle. For people to be living in one was even more so.

And Felix had little reason to doubt that that’s what it was. Once Church had led them below ground, all the doors were equipped with air-tight seals, something that had been installed back when it was feared the virus was transferred via the air - which was partially true, but it took something akin to an exploded zombie and a locked room to make a real threat of any airborne particles. Past the airtight doors were long hallways, lined with doors. Most were spray-painted with large black X’s. Three or four were unmarked - Church said the supplies and storage were kept in those - and then he stopped in another large open room.

“Rec room,” he said with a sigh, gesturing wildly toward one the entire right side of the room. It wasn’t all that different from the upstairs entrance; tables, chairs, lots of magazines, books and cards thrown everywhere. A few couches, none of them in great condition. Another series of lockers stood at one end, all closed, all marked with bright red paint.

Church pointed to the door that stood by those lockers. The entire thing had been outlined in the same bright red paint as the lockers. “That leads to the other side, the one with the other assholes who stay here. You can introduce yourselves. I’m not in the mood for that shit.” He gestured vaguely toward the left side, where three doors stood. One door was outlined in a fading blue. “That is where we sleep - me, Tucker, Caboose, his fuckin’ dog - that blue door. You’re not going in there. Get rooms on the Red side. Center door will take you upstairs and outside to this fuckin’ greenhouse that Donut takes care of.”

Second time someone called ‘Donut’ had been mentioned, Felix noted. He wanted to meet that one just for the name.

“Third door is the cafeteria,” Church was saying. “It’s locked. I can give you the code as long as you promise not to give it to Grif. Motherfucker will eat us out of food in a week if he gets it again.” And then he turned around and motioned behind them. “That door is marked ‘Medical’. It’s our poor excuse of a med clinic, but you have to walk past more broken fuckin’ doors to find it. Not too hard, follow the goddamn signs the asshole has put up.”

Sure enough, the wall behind them held two doors. One was marked as medical in peeling, fading black paint. The other was steel, locked and sporting yet another keypad.

“The other door leads to the garage and the big guns,” Church said. “You can get the code from Lopez - if you can understand the little fuck - but don’t bring it up with Sarge. Or do, actually. He gives a nice lecture on the importance of maintaining military equipment in case we need to kill our idiot friends at any moment.”

And then he stopped, just fell quiet. Felix shared a quick glance with Washington and then raised his eyebrows at Church. “...That’s it?” he said.

Church nodded. “Yeah, help yourself. Go nuts. Stay the fuck out of my side. Go bother the Reds. Have fun. Make friends, get all chummy and shit, I don’t care. But you are not going to be my fuckin’ problem.” He turned to leave, shifting the rifle that still rested on his back.

Wash stopped him. “We have a humvee, and a motorcycle. Our supplies are with them. How are we supposed to get them here?”

Church’s answer was that they should ask the Reds, punctuated with a quick nod to the red outlined door. Wash looked like he wanted to argue that, but then Church was already heading across the room to the blue door. He pushed it open while they watched. It slammed closed, a sound that echoed through the empty room. In the silence that followed, Felix sidled up to Wash and nudged him slightly. “What do you think ‘the big guns’ are?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing good,” Wash answered. “Kind of want the code for that room.”

Felix laughed quietly. “I want the code for the kitchen. Man, I am starving. What do you think they have to eat?”

After a beat, Wash said, “Something disgusting, no doubt.”

Instead of going to the red door, which was clearly what Church had wanted them to do, Felix took a seat at one of the tables. He swept one arm over it, throwing the magazines and playing cards to the floor and then dropped his pack in the chair next to him. Wash took a seat as well, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands.

“I want a shower,” Felix said. “A shower and food, and a bed.”

“A bed would be nice,” Wash mused. “I don’t remember the last time I slept in one.”

“You don’t want a shower? ‘Cause no offense, you kind of stink.”

“You’re one to talk. I think you could fool a zombie by now.”

“Ohh, Wash, sweetheart - that stings.”

Wash snorted. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“And I have chosen to pretend you didn’t. Sweetheart.”

They were still sitting there when the door outlined in red swung open. It had been at least fifteen minutes since Church had disappeared beyond the blue door - and in that time, Tucker had come downstairs, given them a distracted greeting, and took the same door. Not much else had happened, except for Felix and Wash remarking on things they wanted out of this place.

Neither of them bothered to move, though. Apparently being lazy for a bit was welcomed.

But then, the door was open, and two more men were standing there. One was the fat one that had been loitering around outside earlier. The other was taller, pale, and freckled. The fat one said, “See? Told you Church had let them in.”

And the other one, all he said was, “He’s not trying to shove you two on our side, is he?”

They introduced themselves as Grif and Simmons, two of the so-called Reds. They offered no explanation as to what that meant, and Felix didn’t care enough to ask. All he asked was if one of them knew the code to the kitchens and where he could find a bed. And - “We need someone to help us get our shit here.”

“Sarge and Lopez are out,” the one named Simmons said. “If you left your keys with the vehicles, then they’ll bring them back anyway.”

“You’ll have to argue ownership with Sarge,” Grif added. “Because he’s fuckin’ insane - there’s the first lesson. Sarge is insane, Lopez is a dick who doesn’t speak English, and everyone else is stupid.”

“You forgot Doc.”

“Oh! Right. Our medic is terrible. Hope neither of you are injured.”

Felix blinked. Beside him, Wash started to talk, and he kicked him underneath the table. “Nope! Both totally fine.” He shot Wash a glare and was met with one hell of an amused smirk. It was cute, and Felix kicked him again just for that fact. He was never going to allow himself to be treated by a medic that was straight up introduced to him as terrible.

Not a chance in hell.

The bullet wound would heal on its own. So would the cuts from CT. At the very least, he would have Locus look over them when the fucker showed up again. And that one thought led to him sitting there, drumming his fingers on the tabletop and wondering where the fuck Locus even was. When he had spoken to him last, it had sounded as if he and Texas would have made it here first.

Wash was chatting with the other two guys now, about things like where he and Felix would be staying, when they could eat. Felix heard him ask about the other two men that had been named - Sarge and Lopez, and when they’d be back. He asked what the likelihood of them coming back with the humvee and the motorcycle was, and Felix stared straight ahead, not hearing the answer.

He thought of Locus, out there somewhere, with his van.

He had been holding onto the dim, vain hope that Locus would have been here before he and Wash even rolled up to the front gates. But not only did he and Wash not make a spectacular entrance, but the bastard was nowhere to be seen. It had been funny, back when Church was excited over a phone call of all things, but now it just… wasn’t.

As lame as that sounded.

It wasn’t funny at all.

It was pretty fucking depressing.

Grif and Simmons offered to show them the rest of the place - well, Simmons offered. Grif apparently was only interested in the fact that they were stopping by the kitchen first so that Wash and Felix could have some food. His stomach growled at the thought and he followed after them readily enough, but he said nothing, did nothing without being prompted to it. Because Felix and his stupid train of thought wouldn’t - or maybe couldn’t - stop thinking about Locus. And how this felt like another dead end, another pointless trip. Just more people he didn’t want to meet and would end up with for far too long.

It pissed him off, but it was a dull anger and didn’t pierce through the ache that had gripped his chest again.

In silence, he ate something that Grif had thrown into a microwave - an actual working microwave. Holy Christ, it was a miracle. It tasted like old meat mixed with fresh veggies. Weird, but not too bad. Actually kind of good considering how long it had been since he had eaten anything.

If anyone noticed his silence, they didn’t say anything. Wash spoke for both of them, advocating for a shower and some sleep before dealing with anymore introductions. Well, no. What he said was, “I think that… maybe… Felix needs some sleep before any more of you people come out of nowhere. He seems kind of tired.”

Felix grunted a response, stuffed another spoonful of food in his mouth and glowered at Wash. Motherfucker _had_ noticed his silence, and quickly at that.

Grif told them that the Red side had already taken in four kids. “One’s injured,” he said. “but it’s still fuckin’ bullshit. So you two can take the Blue door and tell Church that he’s a fuckin’ bastard. We don’t have room for everyone.”

Simmons pushed him through the open Red door with an insult and promised to introduce the rest of the guys later. “Don’t worry about your things,” he said. “I’ll take it up with Sarge. Make sure everything’s fine. I’m sure it is, but just to be safe - I’ll call Sarge.” And then he disappeared after Grif, pulling the door shut behind him.

“They seem friendly,” Wash said as he led Felix back across the room to the other doorway. “Kind of, anyway.”

“Kind of stupid,” Felix muttered. “Everyone here is an idiot.”

Wash paused with his hand on the door handle, looking back at Felix. “Is that why you’re so quiet?”

In answer, Felix stuck his tongue out and Wash rolled his eyes, pushing the door open. The hallway beyond reminded Felix of a hotel - specifically, the one he had stayed at with Locus before they ever agreed to go with Texas on some bullshit journey. Lots of closed doors placed at intervals that spoke of good-sized rooms behind each one. At the end of the hall stood a set of double doors. There was paint above that one, so dim and faded that it was impossible to read.

The first door was open, but the room was stacked with boxes. The room beside that one was half-open, but the only thing in there was Tucker, lying facedown on a bed and snoring loudly. The third door swung open as Wash let the main door closed, and Church leaned out to glare at them. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he snapped. “I told you to stay with the Reds!”

“Grif said they’ve already taken in four,” Wash said. “So we’re going to stay here. And you’re not going to make us leave.”

Church growled out more curses before withdrawing back into his room and slamming the door. There was a nameplate on the door, one that read “STAY THE FUCK OUT” and Felix hummed under his breath. Church was a thoughtful guy, leaving warnings. On the opposite side from Church and two doors down was another marked door, labeled in handwriting that Felix didn’t bother to decipher. The big guy then, the one that Church had called ‘the stupidest guy’ must stay in there.

There really weren’t a lot of other rooms to choose from. Maybe six doors overall. The first door Wash tried wouldn’t budge open at all - five, then. Five rooms, and Felix pushed open every door with a frown. After he passed on the third room, Wash asked him what he was doing. Felix glanced at him, shoved open the fourth door, and smiled. “Lookin’ for a big bed,” he answered, nodding toward the room he had opened. “I need it.”

It was the last room on the right side before the double doors (the writing over them was still impossible to read but Felix poked his head inside to see a poor excuse for a bathroom). And the bed, Felix was glad to see, was plenty big enough to fit two people. It’d be a tight fit, sure, but he was positive he would have zero problems with sleeping close to Locus - once the fucker showed up, anyway.

Felix claimed it as his own by throwing his pack onto the bed and hopping up next to it. It creaked and the blankets smelled like dust, but it was a fucking bed and that alone was fantastic. Felix decided then, lying on this old bed with his hands beneath his head, that he was probably going to stay in his bed for at least an entire day when this was over. It had been so long that he had almost forgotten what the bed in his apartment felt like. Better than this, for sure.

In the quiet of the room, he could hear the low hum of machinery through the walls. Decades old machinery, somehow still working and powering the steady light in the room. There was something about that, about all these people living in an old military outpost that just made him want to search the whole damn place. Go through every room and hallway, go back through that tunnel that stretched through the outer walls.

What he did instead was lay there, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think that this bed was too big right now.

It was simple, and it was stupid, and it all came back to the fact that he really had gotten far too used to Locus. They had been together for over ten months, never separated for more than a day if they could help it. He depended on Locus for everything, and now that he thought about it, _that_ was stupid. Locus wasn’t someone he could trust, at least not fully - he had never let himself trust the guy more than it took to be sure he'd be protected. Only enough to ensure that he would live, and then he had given the exact same amount back. It was a balanced system that neither of them tipped with things like full dependence and heartfelt talks. None of that shit.  

There was no fucking point to how badly Felix wanted him back, no point to how he lay there now and felt like something was missing. It wasn't as if Locus offered much in the way of conversation, not like Felix ever got anything out of this deal other than protection and sex. They were business partners, he reminded himself, and nothing else. 

The thing was, they had taken on solo missions even after they started billing themselves as a team. That trip Felix had taken to Africa lasted six months. There was one instance where Locus had gone to Spain and didn’t come back for nearly eight months. Neither of those long trips had ever left him wanting to be back with the asshole so badly - none of them. And then this job had thrown them together in tight spaces, unleashed them into the American hot zones, and Felix had dropped everything they had built up. Got too used to Locus always being there whether he wanted the fucker around or not, and now he had to deal with not having him there. 

He lay there and told himself that three weeks wasn’t even a long time.

Three weeks was pathetic bullshit.


	12. it's just this hopeless itch

It was at least two hours before Felix left his room, and then he had bullied someone into handing over bathroom supplies and showered. Then he had bullied someone else into giving him the code for the kitchens, where he could sit in peace and stuff his face with whatever he happened to find. The whole room was set up exactly like any other cafeteria and mess hall Felix had ever been in. Long tables with benches for seats, kitchen on one side with a plastic sneeze guard to protect the food - if there was food to put up there anyway. The entire cafeteria was clean - the cleanest he’d seen so far, every table and every surface wiped down by some meticulous hand.

The kitchen had two stoves, with a microwave installed over one of them, and a huge double door fridge, complete with an ice maker that didn’t work and a freezer that didn’t seem to be cold enough. The cabinets were either empty or filled with water bottles that had yet to be refilled. Most of what was in the fridge was vegetables, in varying stages between fresh and dying. There was a huge slab of meat just sitting on one shelf, and a cardboard box filled with bags of sliced meat. Venison, maybe. Whatever it is was, Felix eventually found himself standing in front of the stove and frying pieces of it for these three goddamn kids that had walked in.

They hadn’t even bothered to introduce themselves. Just two guys and one girl, staring at Felix from the door of the kitchen. Felix had looked at them, then at the meat he was frying, and asked, “You gonna stand there or do you want some?”

Ten minutes later, all four of them had full plates. The three kids had taken seats at a table near the kitchen counter. Felix sat on the counter, enjoying the food and ignoring the rest. Meat wasn’t juicy; pretty dry, actually. But it was good, so good.

The girl, she said, “Why didn’t you make any vegetables?”

“Didn’t want any,” Felix said. “Wanted meat.”

“You could have an actual meal with vegetables.”

“Look, _kids_ _,”_ Felix said, picking up the last slice of meat on his plate. “I have eaten nothing but military rations and jerky for, like, two or three days. So forgive me if I want to indulge in whatever the fuck this is.”

“It’s elk,” one of the boys said. “They shot it when we met them.”

Alright. Elk. He could deal with that. “When was that?’’

“Couple of days ago.”

Felix didn’t respond, and they carried on eating quietly. They hadn’t been here long, newcomers, all three of them. He glanced over them, noted the exhaustion that every one of them seemed to carry, and wondered what they had been up to out there. Traveling through zombie infested lands was hard on most people - hell, it was hard on damn near everyone. For kids as young as these, it must have been brutal. He asked, “How exactly did three kids end up making it to this place? It’s pretty well-hidden. Must have been a stroke of luck to find it.”

None of them answered right away. They shared looks between themselves, and then that same boy, he said, “Our jeep was running out of gas. It was luck, like you said. Nothing else to it.”

Felix paused before answering. “I spoke to some of the guys here,” he said carefully. One of the boys looked ready to drop dead at that table - but he also looked pretty upset. Not that he was going to explode into tears, but the way his face was set, the detached look in his eyes - Felix had seen it before. With the right words, that kid would snap. The girl did too; her hair was a mess and as he watched, she raised one hand to pull at a lock of it. Three tired kids - three worried kids. “One of them,” Felix continued, “said that they had taken in four kids. He said one was injured. I’m gonna go ahead and guess that it wasn’t just luck that brought you here, was it? Needed some help for a friend?”

None of them answered.

So, Felix said, “It’s fine if you needed help. You’re all pretty young. It’d have taken a miracle for you to have survived without help. It’s actually kind of amazing that the three of you aren’t injured as well.”

Still nothing. The girl had stopped eating, staring at her plate.

“This friend of yours, he wasn’t bit, was he?” Felix said. “If he was bit, you should have shot the poor kid before he ever came in here. And if he wasn’t, then the way you guys look is just over-exaggeration. Calm down a little.”

“He was shot.” That came from one of the boys, the one that Felix had pegged earlier as upset and, goddamn, if he wasn’t right about that. “He wasn’t bit. Just shot by some prick for no goddamn reason.”

The girl made some strangled noise, like she wanted him to stop talking.

Felix fought back a smirk. Getting reactions out of twerps like these was always so much fun. “Oh, I’m sure there was a reason. Most people tend to have reasons for shooting kids - even if it’s just bullshit.” That remark earned him a glare from the kid. God, he had barely said anything and this one was already starting to break. It was a little sad, but mostly amusing. “Did he get too close to the shooter? Too close to something that didn’t belong to him? Or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Before the kid could answer, the girl turned and fixed Felix with a steely gaze. It just barely hid the worry that was drawn over her features. “Why are you asking us this? What’s the point?”

“Everyone’s got a story,” Felix said with a shrug. “Just trying to figure out the details of yours.”

The other boy spoke then, the one that hadn’t said a word yet. He raised his head, meeting Felix’s gaze evenly. Out of the three of them, he seemed the least bothered. “What’s yours then? You can’t ask us all of this and not say anything about yourself.”

“Fair enough.” Felix slid off the countertop, resting against it. “I do this for a living.”

“Do… what?”

“I kill zombies. Survive. Take care of the dirty shit that no one else wants to deal with.” He also killed living people, had gone undercover a few times before his reputation got too big in the underground, and charged out the ass for taking the jobs so dangerous that other people backed away from. Like the one he was on now. “It gets me a lot of money.”

“You’re putting yourself in harm’s way,” the girl said, “for money? That’s a little stupid.”

“No, girlie. That’s smart. When you do what I do, and you do it as well as I do, people pay a lot of money for you to kill things.” He smiled. None of them looked too pleased with what he was saying. He could sprinkle on the details, that would really get their attention. “That’s all I’ve got to tell you - so… about your friend?”

Before any of them could answer, the door to the cafeteria swung open. Wash, standing at the doorstep with Tucker looking over his shoulder. “Felix, what the hell are you doing?”

Felix blinked. “I… I’m talking to the kids. What does it look like?”

Wash’s eyes narrowed when he looked at the group at the table. “That ‘Sarge’ guy is back. I need you to help me get our supplies away from him.”

“He found a shotgun in the humvee,” Tucker added,  grinning. “He’s gonna take it. He’s got like ten of ‘em, and you’re still not gonna see the damned thing again.”

“And Tucker,” Wash said loudly, “is not helping the issue. Come on, Felix, let’s go. I don’t want this crazy old man taking everything we own just because he called dibs.”

Felix sighed and pushed away from the counter. “Fine, fine.” Once he passed the threshold of the door and swung it closed after him, he noticed that both Tucker and Wash were staring at him. “...What?”

“What the fuck did you say to those three?” Tucker asked. “They looked like… like…”

“They looked scared,” Wash suggested.

“I was gonna say pissed off, but yeah, sure. Scared and angry.”

Felix frowned. Damn. And he had missed that look on all of their stupid, young faces. All of that work to get a rise out of them and it had happened when Wash arrived. He followed after Wash and Tucker, stopping only long enough for Tucker to unlock the door to the garage. Right past the doorway was a staircase that spiraled up; Tucker took them two at a time, going on and on about how he was so going to get a sniper rifle off of Sarge. He didn’t seem to care when Wash told him any snipers that Sarge had were not theirs to take.  

At the top of the stairs, Tucker pushed open another door and then the three of them were standing in a very large, very open garage. The entire east side of it was open even though huge doors were on the ceiling, clearly meant to be lowered. A rush of cold air blew in, sending flurries of snow with it as well, and Felix found himself wishing that he had bothered to pull on the jacket with the rest of his clothes. Wash and Tucker were wearing theirs and advanced into the garage with no problems.

They passed by a jeep covered with cracked, dull paint. The hood was up, a tarp thrown over it to keep the snow off the engine. The windows were dirty but it was easy to tell that nothing was inside of it save for a nasty looking stain on the backseat. There was another jeep beside that one, painted in the stereotypical military green. It even sported a faded number on the side of it, and Felix instantly thought of it as some relic of this damned outpost. Another thing that shouldn’t be working. There was an ATV beside that, missing two tires. A small set of tools was lying on the ground beside it.

In the back corner though, past where Tucker was leading them, sat something that drew Felix’s eye and made him stop. “Wash,” he said quietly. He reached forward, not taking his eyes off the vehicle resting in the back, and grasped at Wash’s arm frantically. “Wash, is that a tank? Do these guys have a fucking _tank?”_

Wash glanced back at him, then at Tucker who had stopped two steps before them, and then followed Felix’s gaze. His eyes widened slightly. “Holy shit. They have a tank.”

It was huge, hulking, shined to gleaming. Even the treads looked well taken care of. Felix may have grinned and whined, yanking at Wash’s arm. “I want it,” he hissed. “We could blast our way out of hell with that thing. Can you imagine it?”

Tucker snorted. “You’re not gettin’ the tank. It doesn’t even work. Can’t get the stupid thing to turn on. Lopez is, like, in love with it and gives it a nice cleaning every week.” He shrugged, and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Do you guys want your stuff or not?”

Wash dragged Felix forward before snatching his arm away. He whispered, “If we could fix the tank, I wouldn’t let you have it,” and Felix rolled his eyes. He hadn’t seen a tank since he had skipped out on being a professional zombie clearer, the big deal that came with military training and license to use the big guns. He had wanted one then, to see the type of damage it could do, and he wanted this one now. Maybe he could find someone to fix it, blast holes through everything.

But then he was standing in front of the humvee and all thoughts of using a fucking tank vanished. Being faced with a shotgun wielded by some graying man kind of caught his attention. This, he assumed, was Sarge. Beyond him, sitting on Tex’s bike, was a man who was clothed head to foot, not an inch of skin showing. A rifle was slung over that man’s back and he didn’t seem to be interested in moving off the bike’s seat. Rooting around in the back of the humvee was Church; sitting at his feet was the aggressive dog named Freckles. It had a bag of jerky in its mouth and looked at all of the men around like it was daring them to try and take it.

The old guy, Sarge, he scoffed. “Thought I told you to call Simmons,” he said, glancing at Church.

“Yeah, I don’t take orders from you,” Church said. He withdrew from the humvee with a box that held some of the dried meat Felix and Wash still had. “Might’ve forgotten that in your old age, Sarge.”

Sarge growled a few petty insults and then turned his attention back to the three in front of him. Or two, since Tucker had slid around to the back of the humvee to join Church. They spoke quietly, but whatever they said was drowned out by Sarge. “Who the hell are you two? More dirty Blue bastards?”

Felix opened his mouth and Wash promptly stomped on his foot. He threw Wash a glare, one that was ignored. Wash moved to lay a hand on the shotgun that was still pointed in their direction. “I don’t know what a ‘Blue’ is,” he said. HIs voice was steady, but there was an edge to it that clearly said that he was just a step away from slamming that gun into Sarge’s face. “But you’re holding my humvee and all of my supplies hostage. And I don’t appreciate that coming from some crazy man who thinks yelling ‘dibs’ at me actually counts for something.”

Sarge laughed, pulling the gun out of Wash’s grasp. “Aw, boy, don’t you know? Dibs means this is mine.”

“Dibs is something that- that _schoolchildren_ scream at each other,” Wash snapped. “Is this really how this place is run? You just point at things and yell ‘dibs’?”

From the back of humvee, Church said, “You’re gettin’ the hang of it!” He hefted one of the assault rifles out of the humvee and leveled it at the man on the bike. “Ha - Lopez. Hey. You asshole. Guess what?” The guy on the bike twisted around slowly and Church said, with almost childlike glee, “Dibs, motherfucker.”

And Lopez’s answer was quick, in Spanish.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Church said. He slung the rifle over one shoulder.

Sarge glanced over at him and dropped the shotgun slightly. “No one said you get to take any of those guns,” he said loudly. “Drop ‘em!”

Church ignored him, reaching further into the humvee. Tucker said, “You called dibs on the car. Not the weapons.”

“No one gets to call dibs on my weapons!” Wash said. His voice was starting to rise, and Felix was grinning while he talked. This was new, Wash’s anger directed somewhere other than him. When no one even looked in Wash’s direction, he groaned and cast a glance at Felix. “Help?”

Felix nodded. “You got it. Any idea how?”

“Making them shut up would be great,” Wash growled.

“Good choice.” He pulled the pistol from where it was resting on his hip - where it had always rested, where it had been for days. And then he raised it and fired once, the bullet slamming into the garage door overhead. All the chatter stopped - Sarge’s shotgun was instantly pointed at his head again, but he could deal with that. Wash turned his head to fix him with a irritated stare and Felix winked at him.

Then Church said, “What the fuck.”

Right after that, Lopez said something else in Spanish and Felix lowered his arm to gesture in his direction. “Yeah, alright, I’m pretty sure that? That was an insult, and that is just uncalled for and really not necessary.”

“That gunshot was uncalled for and unnecessary,” Tucker said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Wash needed your attention,” Felix said simply. He laid a hand on Wash’s shoulder and squeezed. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” He felt Wash tensing under his hand, heard him draw in a breath slowly.

“Wait…” Tucker said, pointing at the two of them with one hand. There was a pistol in it. “Don’t say you two are bangin’, ‘cause then I owe Grif a weeks worth of meals and I refuse to give that guy anything.”

Wash exhaled just as slow and, without saying a word, reached over to grasp Felix’s hand. And then he bent it backwards, shoving his elbow to Felix’s shoulder and pushing on it. Pressure, and lots of it, pushing on the gunshot wound. Felix tried to move with the motions, and when that failed, settled with spilling a lot of curse words and “Ow - ow, ow, _ow_ \- fuck you, asshole! Let go!”

“Oh, sorry,” Wash said, releasing his grip and taking a step away from Felix. “Was that your wounded shoulder?”

Felix glared at him, bringing his left hand up to rub at the shoulder wound. Damn thing was throbbing again. “Dick.”

“I told you not to touch me again.”

Church drew their attention then, staring at the two of them with narrowed eyes, frowning. “Woah, hang on,” he said loudly. “Did you say he was wounded?”

Wash nodded. “Gunshot to the shoulder.”

Church cursed, and Sarge turned on him, accused him of not searching people before he let them inside. And then Church was practically yelling, voice rising. Felix cleared his throat, saying over their noise, “It’s fine. It’s healing, nothin’ to worry about.”

“No one comes in my base wounded,” Sarge said. He had lowered the shotgun long ago, but his finger was still resting on the trigger. Judging by the way he looked at Felix, the old man was just begging for an excuse to shoot him. “That’s how it’s always been, and if that no good dirtbag would stick to the rules, we’d have no problem!”

“Fuck you,” Church snapped. “The fuck was I supposed to do? Strip search them? No one was bleeding, no one was dying! And who was it that let in a dying kid just yesterday, huh? That was your thing! You broke your own fuckin’ rules.”

Sarge grumbled more insults lowly, but loud enough so that every word could be heard by Church. He looked over Felix again, then grunted. “Lopez! Take this no good trespasser down to Doc. Don’t let him leave.”

Felix had enough time to mutter, “I’m a trespasser now?” before the man on the bike had walked over and taken him by the arm. The injured one. Felix snarled and snatched his arm back. “Don’t grab me. I’m not a fan of being manhandled.”

“No one gets in wounded,” Sarge repeated.

“Just let Doc look at it,” Tucker spoke up. “He’s terrible, no one’s gonna say he isn’t, but all he’s gonna do is give you some pussy-fest bullshit.”

“Pacifist,” Church muttered. “The word is ‘pacifist’ - y’know, I think you’re just saying pussy-fest just to annoy everyone at this point. ‘Cause otherwise, you’re just a fuckin’ idiot.”

Lopez was shoving Felix back to the door at this point, talking in low Spanish the whole time. If that was really the only language the guy spoke, this was going to really old really fast. Not that the whole thing wasn’t getting pretty fucking ridiculous already - he had to be led out? Like a child? That was insulting. And for a healing bullet wound, too.

Before they were even halfway across, Church sent that big ass dog to trot after them, gave it an order to watch him. The dog fixed him with a mean look and Felix decided that Church just wanted to get rid of it.Couldn’t blame the guy, really. That dog, despite still holding the bag of jerky in its mouth, looked pissed off as hell. It trotted ahead of them the whole way out of the garage, head and tail held high. It was sitting at the exit by the time Lopez and Felix came downstairs, staring at the two of them with a nigh human expression of disdain.

“I’m starting to think this dog has more brains than anyone else here,” Felix said.

Lopez muttered something, inputting the code for the locked door. It was too quiet to catch all of it, but Felix definitely heard the name Caboose thrown in there. Felix didn’t bother to give a response as Lopez swung the door open onto the rec room beyond. It was empty, no one in sight, and Freckles headed straight for one of the couches. The dog  jumped up, making itself comfortable, and tore into the bag of jerky. Neither Felix nor Lopez was important to this dog, not over jerky.

After Lopez pushed the door to the medical wing open, Felix had expected him to leave as well. What would be the point in following him down here? Wasn’t as if this guy needed to be seen - that outfit he wore may not have been as zombie-proof as Felix’s, but there were no tears nor bitemarks. He was safe. Still, his footsteps followed Felix down the hall, never pausing. Neither of them said anything.

The medical wing was built identical to the rest of the outpost. Wide halls, heavy locked doors, flickering lights. Several of the first doors had been X’d out with black paint, but eventually they passed open doors and dark, empty rooms standing on both sides. “There is no way you would ever need all of these rooms,” Felix remarked as he passed another X’d door. “Even if all of you were injured - this is insane. Why do you live in this place?”

Of course, whatever Lopez said made no fucking sense, and Felix sighed inwardly. Needed to stop trying to talk to the Spanish guy. And, he thought, he should probably learn Spanish. He could make Locus teach him, that’d be one way.

The sheer size of this place still amazed him. No amount of pictures and diagrams in books could prepare someone for actually walking through one of these ridiculous outposts. The damned things had been built when everyone was paranoid that the walkers would find their ways into any building and any room. It must have taken ages to dig out all the space needed for just one outpost and there were at least a hundred of them scattered across the United States and Canada.

This particular one had bright posters with supportive slogans plastered every few feet on the way to medical. Ridiculous things. Lopez paused at one with a cat on it that was falling off the wall and Felix watched him reach up and press its corners back down.

“Holy shit, you’re encouraging this,” Felix sighed. “These are the stupidest things I’ve ever seen - like grade school stupid - and you’re over here just putting it back up.”

Lopez turned his head, the helmet he wore reflecting the overhead lights and obscuring the visor. He said, _“Pendejo,_ ” flatly.

Felix frowned. “Yeah, I know what that one means. You can only be insulted so many times before you learn them.”

_“Cabron.”_

“Yeah, okay. Do you do anything but insult people?”

He was quiet before saying, “No.” He sounded pretty amused, like it was all one big joke.

This guy was the real asshole, Felix thought. Just hid it well behind Spanish. Surrounded by the idiots upstairs, anything he had said was ignored or, most likely, misinterpreted. Those may have been the only insults Felix knew, but he was willing to bet most of what the guy had said was along the same lines. He’d be impressed with the dedication to consistently insulting someone in another language if it wasn’t directed to him at the moment.

He turned away from Lopez, heading toward the end of the hall. The hallway opened up at the end to a counter and a small waiting area. Past that stood two more doors, both with large glass windows and both showered with bright lights. Behind him, Lopez said, _“No abra la puerta izquierda. El idiota heridos está ahí.”_

Felix ignored him and moved to squint into the first room. Nothing but a table and a chair, a sink, and a couple of cabinets. There was a door on the far side, closed, and he could see the light was on in there but there was no way to see inside of it. This was probably where he was supposed to go. So of course he slid over and peered into the other room as Lopez sighed behind him. A quick glance back and he saw Lopez settling into one of the old chairs in the room. It groaned slightly under his weight.

But in the room there was a boy. Young and not at all built for the world he was living in. Too small, Felix noted, to do much harm to anyone in hand-to-hand. The kid’s shirt had been pulled off, and most of his torso was covered by a blanket, but the edge of bandages was peeking out. This was the injured one, the one Grif had mentioned. The fourth member of the party that he had been chatting with earlier.

“This kid is fucked up,” Felix said quietly.

He was unconscious, Felix could tell. It might have looked like he was sleeping, but there was no way that was it. Must be a bad injury underneath that bandage. Felix reached for the doorknob and a voice - a new voice - spoke. “You’re not allowed in there. He needs to rest. Avoid stress, that kind of thing.”

It was another guy - no, two of them. One was frowning at him, shoving him away from the door he was in front of; the other was watching, drinking from a bottle of water. There was a nasty scar on one side of his face. The doorway to the other room stood open beside them.

“Seriously, you shouldn’t be here,” the first guy said. “Unless you’re injured. Wait - are you? Who are you exactly?”

“Ohh, he’s one of the new guys!” the other one said, leaning forward. “Grif and Simmons told me about them. They showed up out of nowhere and took on Church! Beat their way in. It was a pretty exciting story.”

Felix sighed. “Alright, first: I’m Felix, and I’m fine. Second: Church shot at us and missed, it wasn’t that exciting.”

“That wasn’t what they told me.”

Felix ignored him. “All I wanted to do was watch a bunch of idiots argue over guns, but then the old guy said I was wounded and then chatty Spanish dickbag over there led me down here.” Behind him, Lopez spoke and Felix flipped him off without even turning to look at him.

Of course, all it took was mentioning the possibility of being injured and Felix found himself sitting in one of the empty rooms in the hall while a medic fumbled through boxes of supplies and talked to himself. It wasn’t encouraging at all, and even though Felix said he was fine, that it was healing and he could take care of it, the guy insisted on looking at it. He introduced himself as Frank Dufresne, but then the other one called him Doc and that was easier to remember.

This smiling, scarred guy had also said his name was Donut. It was a strange name - but it actually fit him somehow. He said, “I’ll go get you some orange juice and be right back.”

Felix wanted to question what the point of giving a guy orange juice was, but Donut had already sped from the room. The door slammed shut after him, and then Doc was standing beside him with gauze and bandages. Looked like redressing wounds was something even a terrible medic could do; in a few minutes, he was done. “At least it isn’t infected,” he said, pressing the bandages down. “That other guy is taking so much of my time and I’m not even sure how much I’m helping.”

“Ringing endorsement for yourself, Doc.”

“It’s not that, it’s just… he’s in really bad shape.” He paused while shoving boxes back into one of the cabinets. “He got shot and it went right through him. I think it might’ve hit something important, maybe an organ.”

“...You think,” Felix repeated blandly. If this guy was as bad as everyone had said, that wasn’t a surprise. “What, you can’t tell?”

“It’s a little hard.”

Felix considered telling the guy that if it was too much of a hassle to keep the kid alive, just kill him. Drag him outside, shoot him in the head. Burn the body if his friends were upset the idea of him feeding zombies. Considered saying it, but before he could speak again, Donut had burst through the door again with several bottles filled with orange juice.

Actual fucking orange juice.

He drank his while listening to Donut and Doc talk about the others, the greenhouse they took care of (apparently where the oranges for the juice came from), and the dog. They asked where Felix and Wash had come from, how long they were going to stay, and somehow that derailed into Felix explaining about Texas knowing Church. He ended up pulling his phone out and flicking through the photos until he got to the one of her, perched on her bike.

And then lost his phone to Donut, who went through all of them and asked far too many questions. About the photos of zombies, of Locus, of empty buildings crawling with dead, and the ones taken the last time he had been at Kimball’s. Months of old photographs and damn if he wasn’t interested in the story behind all of them.

It was nearly an hour later before he got the phone back from Donut and could leave without being pestered about something. Lopez was long gone by then, which made the short walk through the medical hall quiet. Sitting there and listening to those two talk, answering questions as vaguely as he could... it had left Felix feeling like his social interaction intake had been filled for at least the next month. All that time alone or in small groups - all the driving and the quiet conversations - it must have actually had an effect on him after all those months.

Small groups were nice, he thought. Noisy people who never shut the fuck up - less so. Being in a place filled with nosy fuckers who never stopped talking - definitely not nice. He was used to juggling and entertaining several people at once, but that was before, in the cities and on jobs that required him to draw them in. There was none of that here.

The door at the end of the medical wing opened onto Church and Sarge shouting at each other from opposite ends of the rec room. Apparently the argument from the garage had migrated down here because Church was going on about greedy old assholes and someone said dibs again. Everyone had come out of hiding, adding their own level of noise. Even the three kids from earlier were there, sitting at a table and speaking up every so often.

“Holy shit,” Felix said quietly. “They’re even worse together.” It was as if every single one of the idiots only existed to flare up the tempers of the others. LIke some giant mesh web of angry stupidity. It was interesting, but loud, and Felix was tired.

He left them to their arguing, pushing the blue-lined door open. It slammed closed and cut the noise on the other side off instantly; there was the barely muffled murmur of the sea of voices on the other side. Huh. Sound-proof doors.

There was an open door down the hall and he peered through it to find Wash, sitting on the corner of the bed and cleaning a rifle slowly. “Enjoying our newfound friends?” Felix asked dryly.

“All of these people should be dead,” Wash answered. He didn’t look up from the gun. “It doesn’t make any sense for them to be alive.”

Couldn’t argue with that.

He started to leave and Wash added, “I got our supplies back. Minus the shotgun that Sarge had, and two rifles for Church and Tucker. That’s why they’re out there yelling at each other.” He looked up then, an unamused smile on his face. “Apparently we’re Blue sympathizers now.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“We’ve ‘offset the balance’ of something. I stopped listening.”

Felix left him then, and found that Wash had been very serious about winning their supplies back. The door to his room was open as well, and there were weapons on his bed. Three more guns and even an extra set of blades that CT must have had. Fuckin’ sweet. He didn’t even move them before falling asleep, just splayed himself out on the rest of the bed.

The next day, he found out that this place ran its cafeteria on a schedule. Namely, breakfast was at eight and if you slept through it, too fuckin’ bad - you don’t get anything until past noon, when lunch was served. Felix didn’t wake until after ten, didn’t get to the cafeteria until almost eleven, and ended up making breakfast with Grif hovering around. It wouldn’t have been too bad if Grif didn’t try and tell him what to make, how to make it, what to put in it - and all the while stuffing his face with whatever was in the fridge.

After that, Felix stuck with Wash to try and avoid direct contact with so much stupidity. Wash, though, wanted to explore every inch of the old outpost - which meant having to inevitably put up with these guys. They edged back into the medical bay so Wash could get a good look at what they had, and that came with Doc popping up again. The only thing that was remotely interesting about that was that Felix found out that the injured kid had been shot off of a bike. His name was Palomo, according to Doc, and his friends were very worried about him. Felix watched him through the window while Wash talked with Doc, thinking over the circumstances of the kid’s injury. He was shot. Off a bike. Very deadly, very precise. Wash pulled him away before he could open the door and disturb Palomo.

All of Palomo’s friends were on the red side of the base, in rooms with open doors that mirrored the ones on the blue side. Bitters, Smith, and Jensen were the names that they had given Wash; they all gave suspicious glances to Felix, but he still had no idea what he’d done to them. He was really starting to suspect the injured Palomo had something to do with it.

Simmons showed them upstairs to a room that was nearly identical to the entrance they had come through. There were more couches, one occupied by a snoozing Grif, and their gun cabinet was locked but it was virtually the same. Someone - Felix was betting on Sarge - had painted a military slogan over the doorway.

Wash even looked in the greenhouse, which meant dealing with Donut again. At least he got away from that one with an armful of fruits.

“The greenhouse is my favorite part,” Felix told Wash, dumping the fruit on his bed. “I haven’t had fresh fruit in months.”

Wash snatched an apple from him. “I’m going up to the garage. See if I can’t find where those guns Church mentioned are.”

Felix followed him, mostly to avoid the fact that he had nothing else to do. Tucker and Caboose stood in the rec room, snow dusting their shoulders. There was a sword strapped to Tucker’s side and Freckles was shaking snow out of his fur where he stood by Caboose’s legs. They were arguing - of course - but whatever it was about was lost on Felix. He ignored them just as he had ignored all the others they had run into so far today, and watched Wash input the code for the garage door. As soon as Wash gripped the handle, all the lights dimmed and a piercing alarm rang.

“Did you break it?” Felix snapped, wincing. The alarm was loud - way too loud, damn near screaming.

Wash managed to glare at him before glancing behind them. “What the hell is going on!?” he yelled.

Tucker and Caboose were already reacting to the noise. Well, it was more like Tucker had jumped into action as soon as it started. He was already moving towards them quickly. “Proximity alarm!” Tucker yelled back. He shoved past Wash, yanking the door open and bolting for the stairs. “Hurry up!” Wash hurried after him, yelling for more explanation but if Tucker gave any other answers it was lost in the alarm. Felix stood where he was, torn between finding somewhere quiet and following the other two up the stairs.

He glanced at Caboose, who was standing with his hands over his ears. The dog at his heels was howling. Caboose said, very loudly, “The dead are back.”

Before he even finished talking, the red door slammed open and four of them came pouring out. Grif, Simmons, and two of the younger ones - the girl, one of the boys. They rushed by Caboose, heading for the garage stairs without saying a word. As they passed, one of them snagged Felix by the arm and yanked him along. He snatched his arm out of the grip, frowning at the guy that had grabbed him. Smith, if he remembered right. “What the fuck is going on?” Felix asked him.

“Simmons said it’s a proximity alarm.” That was Jensen, pretty much yelling as she rushed up the stairs after him. “It’s triggered by the zombies getting too close, but he didn’t say how close that was.”

The answer, it turned out, was pretty goddamn close. They entered the garage and the first thing Felix noticed was the zombies that stumbled along just past the garage doors. The alarms had cut off as soon as the door closed behind them. The noise had been replaced with the eerie screeching of the zombies and rapid gunfire that was punctuated every so often by what he recognized as shotgun blasts. Somewhere, Sarge was having far too much fun; he could hear the idiotic old man laughing from where he stood.

The others had left, following Simmons to a door at the back of the garage. Felix swept his eyes over the zombies that he could see and thought that following them back there might not be a bad idea - especially when Smith charged by holding an assault rifle. All that Felix had on him was the pistol and a knife; he had never bothered to pull out his set of knives and  replace the one he had lost when he had plunged it into CT’s leg. Kind of left him at a disadvantage, not having anything heavier to fire than a handgun.

But he edged out of the garage, firing and catching zombies in the head as he moved. The damn things were everywhere, lurching for anyone they could see, dragging deep tracks through the snow. Blood pooled around each one that fell, staining the ground. And for every one that dropped, it was like two more took their place. As far as Felix could tell, every single person in that compound was out here. Minus the dying kid down below and the medic, but still. A lot of people. A lot of firepower. Even this many zombies shouldn’t be too much of a problem.

Felix worked as he always did: pistol in one hand, knife in the other. In this case, the knife was in his right hand. Even though pulling the blade through zombie skulls was putting a lot of effort on his bad shoulder, it seemed like a better deal than the constant retort of the pistol. When the pistol ran out of bullets, he switched, putting his good arm forward and dodging zombies as they came - always keeping the bad arm out of their reach, moving swiftly through the dead and the snow to lessen the chances of any of them catching him.

The others were fighting and though they weren’t the best, it didn’t necessarily take experts to kill zombies when there were this many. He watched Tucker slice the entire top half of a zombie’s skull off, swinging the sword in his hands around to catch a pair that were advancing on Church. The sniper rifle was on Church’s back, pistol in his hand, and as Felix’s movements brought him within ear shot, he heard Church scream, “Who the fuck left the gate open!?”

The answer came from Caboose, who wielded a steel crowbar instead of a gun. “Freckles wanted to go outside,” he said. “I couldn’t say no to Freckles.” Instead of hitting the zombies with the weapon in his hands, Caboose just shoved them backward with a strength that sent them toppling. Each one he threw back, Church would shoot. Anything that came within the reach of Tucker’s sword lost either its entire head or half of it.

“Outside - ? The whole fuckin’ place is outside! You’re standing in outside!” Church roared. His voice was shooting up in octaves and Felix started to shift back toward the garage. Anything to get away from that before they fought in the middle of zombies.

Still caught Tucker screaming, “I told you to close the fucking gate, you fuckwit!”

As he glanced from zombies to the living, Felix could see that the rest of them were a lot less dependent on one another than those three. Sarge was shooting a shotgun, screaming insults and more ridiculous nonsense at every dead bastard in his way; Lopez followed him, firing without saying a word. Grif and Simmons were still on the edge of the garage, Simmons doing much more work than Grif. As much as one or two quick glances showed, Grif only bothered to shoot things that came within grabbing distance of the two of them.

And then there was Wash, fighting alongside the two younger kids and Donut. Where the hell Donut came from, he had no idea. But even with three other people, Wash definitely shot more of the dead than the rest of them. Had to be at least a three-to-one ratio there.

Felix made his way over to them, sliding into the group to lean close to Wash. “Heard Church say something about a gate,” he said. “It’s open.”

Wash sighed as he shot down another crumbling zombie. The blood spurted out on the ground. “Great. Of course the gate is open.”

“We should move,” Donut said. He was gazing at the gates with wide eyes.

“To the gate?” Jensen asked.

A loud honking was her answer and Felix looked up to see a van speeding toward him. Beside him, Wash muttered, “Oh, no,” before diving out of the way. Felix followed his lead; the others jumped the opposite way and the van screamed to a halt between the divided group. Zombies were caught on the bumper, under the wheels, all of them snarling and scraping their fingers over the van’s hood. Felix ignored them and all of the others around him. Because that was his van.

 _His_ van with its cracked paintjob looking pathetically dull in the afternoon sunlight. Texas was driving and as he stared at her, she popped open the door and leapt out, disappearing on the other side. The back doors swung open at the same time a gunshot went off - a shotgun blast - very close to his head. Felix had just enough time to look behind him to see a zombie’s head disintegrate. The blood splashed onto his face and arm, down the jacket, probably into his hair as well. He flinched, scowling as he squeezed his eyes shut.

His van was here. _Locus_ was here. And there was zombie blood on his face, sliding over his forehead and dripping over his eyes. Fuckin’ brilliant. Felix wrenched his eyes open despite the blood, glaring at the nearest person. Which, as it so happened, was Sarge. “What the fuck was that?” he snarled.

Sarge cocked his shotgun and shot the head off of another zombie. “Saved your ass,” he said brightly. “You should watch yourself, ya dirty blue sympathizer.”

Felix cursed at him and Sarge ignored him, diving right back into the fray. And that left Felix surrounded by the undead. He raised the knife in his hand, shifting so his back was to the van, readying himself to pick off the nearest zombie. When a hand landed on his arm, he jerked back, spinning the blade in his hand to lash out-

It hit the visor of Locus’s helmet, leaving a deep scratch across the left side. He could feel the disapproving glare through that tinted visor, but really that wasn’t new. That was typical for the asshole - _some reunion,_ Felix thought. There he stood, blood and possibly walking dead brain juices splashed over his face and his jacket. Nothing but a mess.

Locus was clean by contrast, not a drop of blood on him aside from where he had taken hold of Felix. Even when he fired a shot from a pistol to kill the nearest zombie, the blood just seemed to avoid him. Jackass. Such a jackass. Which didn’t really bother Felix all that much right now because it was like things had been set right again. All the frustration and irritation that had been nearly constant for the past week replaced by one swift rush of relief and something that bordered on excitement and elation at the same time. And that… that was going to be stifled right the fuck back down.

Seeing Locus again was not the greatest thing that had happened to him this week, not by far, not even if all his impulses were arguing against that. Even if all he wanted to do right now was rip that goddamn helmet off the bastard and kiss him.

Felix took a breath to speak and it smelled like the dead, like rot and decay. Locus spoke before he could. “Don’t say anything.” He shot another zombie, and sighed at the irritation that flashed over Felix’s face. “You’re covered in infected blood. Do you really want to risk it?”

Right. Zombie blood. If even a little bit ended up in his mouth, he was pretty fucked over. He could keep his mouth shut for now. Then blood oozed over his eye and he narrowed it to damn near squinting, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Locus.

“Maybe you should just shut your eyes as well.”

Felix glared at him. Flipped him off with the hand that still held onto his knife. He wrenched his eyes shut then, cringing inwardly at how goddamn stupid it was to be standing in a crowd of zombies without sight. But no one knew exactly what happened if too much hot blood got into the eyes. It wasn’t good, he knew that, and he wasn’t going to sign himself up to be the first guinea pig. Locus let go of his arm to push at his back with an order to move. He did, hesitantly, carefully.

He was so tempted to snap at Locus that closing his eyes meant he couldn’t see a fucking thing when Locus said lowly, “If you don’t move faster, I will carry you.”

That would be a sight. A humiliating sight that everyone else would probably get a good laugh at.

Unbelievable.

Felix cracked the eye less covered with blood. He could see this way, found it easier to weave between zombies. Locus kept his hand at the small of Felix’s back, pressing him forward. He heard Locus say, “We need to get him somewhere to get cleaned off.”

For a split second he wondered who Locus was talking to, but then the answer came in a high-spirited voice and he frowned. “Oh, you can use the med wing! I’ll take you guys!” Fuckin’ Christ, he got directions from Donut.

And of course, Donut chattered pretty much the whole way back downstairs. Someone had turned off the damned alarms, something that Felix was grateful for, but he didn’t care for navigating a staircase with only one eye open. Didn’t care for Locus’s hand shifting to rest at his hip either. Halfway down, Locus started responding to Donut, encouraging the annoying little fuck to keep going on and on and on.

Felix wanted to stab Donut. He wanted to slice Locus’s fingers off for staying on his hip. He had shoved the hand off and not two seconds later, it was back, Locus digging his fingers in. No, this was fine. This was great. Locus and Donut could chat while Felix was held in Locus’s grasp where anyone could see it.

He had never wanted to curse at someone as much than he did right then. But he could feel the blood on his lips and bit down on his tongue instead.

Donut led them to one of the first empty rooms he found, turning on the light for them. “I’ll go find some rags you can use. Don’t have too much fun without me.”

The instant the door shut behind him, Locus dropped his gun next to the sink, reaching forward to pull at Felix’s jacket. He had expected this, seeing as the jacket was coated with blood as well. So Felix left Locus to that, sliding his knife back into his belt and pulling off the blood-splattered gloves. He thought dimly that it was a good thing that he had dressed in this damn suit today. It would have been so much worse otherwise.

Donut popped back in right at the point that Felix slapped Locus’s hands away to shrug out of the jacket. He held a handful of rags in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. “Found disinfectant,” he said, smiling. “I thought it might be useful - it’s what Doc always uses when Church is injured, so I thought it’d be - “

Locus snatched everything out of his hands and pushed Donut out the door. “Go help your friends,” he said, closing the door in his face.

Donut’s answer was quiet, muffled by the door. “Well, you didn’t have to be so rude about it…”

At least he was gone. Felix watched Locus stand by the sink and peel his own gloves off. Only one had blood on it, the one he had grasped Felix with initially. How he had managed to get out of that mess with not even a drop of blood on him was a fucking miracle.

Soon, Locus was pressing a warm rag to the side of his face. Felix leaned with the touch instead of into it and Locus caught the other side of his face - the side not splattered with blood - and held him still. It was absolute bullshit standing there, letting Locus clean zombie blood off his face. Cleaning his face was totally something he could handle himself and he focused a glare at Locus’s helmet. The only reason he didn’t shove Locus away and do it himself was because of the warmth that was spreading from Locus’s hand on his jawline. Being outside was freezing cold, had bit into his exposed skin, and damn if that wasn’t a nice way to warm it up again.

Be even better if he was being kissed, though. Maybe slammed against a wall too, that’d be the best way to get warmed up nice and quick.

But, no, he didn’t get any of that. He got one rag being replaced with another, Locus moving it over his face quickly, sliding it carefully over Felix’s eyes and making him shut them again. He had complete fucking dependence on Locus to clean him off and that notion caused a flurry of unrest in his gut. Nerves sparked at the idea of it, of placing his trust in this asshole again even for something so simple as this act.

He really should have cleaned himself off.

Locus ran a hand wrapped in the rag through his hair, kneading against his scalp through the cloth. It was to get the blood out, he knew that, but it felt nice. Kind of relaxing, actually. Took the edge off the cluster of nerves that was building, cut the reaction to flee back before it even took root in his mind. Then Locus used his grip on Felix’s jaw to raise his head, ran his thumb over his bottom lip and Felix opened his eyes again.

“You gonna take that helmet off or what?” he asked quietly.

Locus’s answer was laced with amusement. “Maybe if you’re still alive in an hour.”

“And that means…?”

In response, he got Locus spraying the bottle of disinfectant in his face and ignoring Felix’s angry protests.

Half an hour later, Felix was sitting on the bed in the room. Only it was more like a cot, and a shitty one at that. He was leaving messy bootprints on its sheets, blood and snow mixing together to make nasty, mushy marks wherever his feet hit. He had cleaned the knife of blood by wiping that on the sheets as well, and spun it now between his fingers. He stared at Locus; the face of the helmet stared back. He looked at the scratch over the left side of it and wondered just how angry Locus was going to be about that.

Neither of them had spoken in a while. Felix’s silence was triggered mostly by how fucking annoyed he was. He couldn’t shift his weight without the pistol in Locus’s hand moving to track him. Fuckin’ dick, honestly… “Do you expect me to turn if I move an inch, seriously?” Felix snapped.

Instead of answering, Locus said, “Why weren’t you wearing your helmet? You have one, don’t you?”

“I… It’s misplaced,” Felix muttered. He remembered giving the thing to Wash before they entered this place but after that, no idea. Wash must have put it somewhere.

“Misplaced,” Locus repeated. “Have you really become that irresponsible?”

“Don’t start with me. Wasn’t like I expected zombies to come out the fuckin’ walls.”

Locus sighed and it merged into some kind of annoyed noise.

Felix frowned at him. “What? What’s bothering you now?”

“I was enjoying the silence,” he said. “It’s nice when you’re quiet for once.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” Felix said, feigning concern. “Am I disrupting your silence? God, that’s just - I’m so sorry, that’s so terribly disrespectful of me.” He pushed off the cot, landing on the floor. The knife still spun in his fingers, the movement not even noticed by him anymore. Just something to keep his hand busy. “I’ll just take my leave then. Enjoy your silence. Find me when you’re not being a raging assmongler.” He took two steps to the door, smirking at Locus’s footsteps following him.

And then there was a gun pressed into the base of his neck and he froze. “Locus. What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re not going to leave until I’m sure you aren’t going to be a problem.”

Felix turned slightly. The gun moved with him, sliding to lodge under his jaw. He faced Locus with a scowl - still wearing that fucking helmet. “Are you serious? I’m fine. Lower your fucking gun.”

Locus didn’t answer.

The gun at his jaw didn’t move either, and that coupled with Locus’s silence and refusal to take off his helmet pissed him off. It was just mild irritation until then, but holy shit. Felix gripped the knife tightly, moving quickly to shove Locus’s arm away, to get the gun away from him. Locus dropped the gun instantly, reaching out to snag Felix’s wrist before he could get any closer. The gun hit the floor with a clatter and Felix glared daggers into the visor obscuring Locus’s eyes.

Goddamn, he had actually _ached_ to be back with this dickjockey.

That was even more pathetic than he had thought.

Locus said, “It takes longer than half an hour for someone to turn.” While that may be true, it was bullshit. If Felix was infected, they would know by now. It would be obvious and Felix would by lying dead on that cot with a bullet in his skull. “Aside from that… Are you still going to detail that woman’s death? Does it still excite you to the point of being infuriating?”

Felix groaned, yanking his wrist away. He slid the knife back into its sheath. “Do you really have to do this now?” When Locus didn’t answer, he reached forward to slide his fingers underneath the helmet, searching for the clasps he knew were there. Locus pulled his hands off easily, removing the helmet himself. Felix focused on his eyes, on that sharp gaze that pierced his own. He took in the familiar features, darker skin, old scars, and inwardly kicked himself. Annoyed beyond belief, and he still wanted to be pinned against a wall by the guy. “Said I was fine and I meant it,” he said, biting at his lip, trying very hard to keep all focus on Locus’s eyes and not drift to his lips. Pure focus here. “You don’t have to… fuckin’ analyze me, for fuck’s sake.”

Locus took his face in his hand again, tracing over the cut that CT had left. “We’ll see about that,” he said. His voice was quiet, soft. “Where did you get this?”

“From the bitch I murdered.” Locus’s thumb was tracing over his skin, away from the cut and over his cheekbone. “Or left to die, whatever.” He was leaning into Locus’s touch now, like an animal begging for attention. His hands snagged Locus’s jacket, pulling him closer, and then Locus slid his other arm around Felix’s waist. Locus was warm, but then again, he always was. Guy was a walking furnace; it was near blissful in the cold weather, like now. It wasn’t even that Felix was all that cold anymore, but, goddamn. His eyes drifted closed as Locus pulled his hand from Felix’s jaw just to run it through his hair. The other ran over his back, resting against his shirt. His hand lay flat, and Felix felt the heat spreading from it.

Felix sighed, content just to stand there and let Locus run his hands everywhere he wanted. All his anger and irritation with Locus was fading away the longer they stood like this. The heat was nice, the contact was even better, and there was the lightest smile on his face. Felix bit the inside of his lip to force it down. His hands clutched at Locus’s chest, at the straps of his jacket, and he tugged himself closer again.

And then Felix was pulled flush against Locus’s chest, their bodies pressed as close as they could get. Felix’s eyes snapped open at the sudden movement, closing again as he slid his hands around Locus, scraping his nails over the jacket to grip the fabric at his back. He let his head rest on Locus’s shoulder, breathing in deeply. He smelled like old bonfires, like gunsmoke and acrid air. LIke the entire outdoors had been compressed down into his jacket. The hand on his back squeezed, fingers clutching at him through his shirt, and Felix thought that maybe this was getting a bit intimate. Much more than the usual times Locus had pulled him this close, when every move was pushed by hunger, lust, desire.  But this was calm, and Locus’s hands were soothing, and Felix felt that maybe if he stayed here long enough, everything they were doing, where they were, the danger they faced - it would all just fade away.

Then Locus said his name, quietly.

Felix hummed lowly. Locus’s fingers were still running along his scalp and he was way too relaxed to actually use words.

Locus said, “Don’t do that again.”

Felix frowned, pulling his head back to look Locus in the eye. The hand fell from his hair, Locus’s fingers settling at the base of his throat. “Uh… Do what, exactly? Gotta be more specific.”

Locus traced along his collarbone, up his neck. His eyes were focused, never leaving Felix’s face. He said, “Don’t throw yourself at a horde of zombies.”

“I make no promises,” Felix said, grinning. He leaned forward to kiss Locus, moving his hands from Locus’s back to wrap his arms around the other’s shoulders. Every instinct told him that it should be harsh and more teeth and biting than anything else, but that didn’t really fit the moment. It was slow, gentle, and Felix made a noise of pleasure low in his throat. When Locus pulled away, he moved to rest his head at Felix’s throat - and Felix angled his neck, gave more skin up to him. This was familiar.

But rather than the typical round of biting and teasing, Locus’s lips settled on his skin and didn’t move. Both of his hands were at Felix’s back now, squeezing and clutching and holding him tight. He spoke quietly then. “If you ever leave like that again, I will find you. And I will destroy you for having the audacity to do something so stupid more than once.”

Felix laughed then. One of Locus’s hands was rubbing small circles into his back. “Is that a promise?”

The movement against his back stilled for a second before continuing. Locus bit lightly at his neck. “Against my better judgement, yes.”

* * *

The past few days had been a respite for them, for her crew. Carolina found out quickly that even when ordered to take it easy for a few days, she couldn’t. There was still too much to do, too much to figure out. The first call from Command that came in after they broke the jammer had been rerouted to the Director himself. She’d had to explain everything - the tracker, the jammer, the attacks by those men in black. Florida’s death and Washington’s disappearance. How they had no idea where Wash was now, if he was alive, how to find him - nothing. She had endured all of his anger, the scatching remarks, waiting until he gave her new orders.

Which, as it so happened, was to get across the North Dakota state line. They drove through as fast as the Dakotas’ van could take them, barreling past places crawling with zombies where they usually would have stopped. South brought the van within arms reach of a towering city of the dead, speeding over an overpass as the walking dead screamed below them.

They had crossed into Minnesota four days ago, and no new orders had come through yet. Nothing had come through, other than a quick message from Command that someone was coming to meet them. That had been three days ago.

The area directly past North Dakota was nearly empty. There were no inhabitants for nearly one hundred miles past the borders of any of the dead-zone states, and then the first places to encounter people were usually security checks - small complexes occupied by trained guards and small militant forces. Tall fences marked the beginning of any one of these complexes, bright signs warning of electricity buzzing through the wired fencing. There was a demand at the gate for identification, for a quick blood test for everyone in the car to prove that no one was infected There were two more gates after that one, tall and imposing, topped with barbed wire. Only the innermost fence didn’t require a blood test. It was also the only one that wasn’t marked as an electric fence.

The security turned out to be rather helpful. Strict, no-nonsense men and women - but helpful. One of them gave them a numbered garage to park in, another pair helped unload their supplies, and three more led to sparse rooms where they would stay. It was the militant force who were friendly. Every one of them was willing to talk with Carolina and her team, willing to put forth the effort to make them comfortable.

Really, it didn’t take much to get their attention. All she had to do was introduce them and recognition flashed in the eyes of anyone they met. Looked like their reputation preceded them.

The friendlier members ended up bringing North, South, and York into card games and drinking at night. One of them had invited Maine as well and gotten a door slammed in his face. Carolina turned down the offer to play, but stayed in the room to watch York lose spectacularly to North. Night after night and he still lost with a lot of complaints and comments about how his bank account was going to be empty for months after this. But she trained with these people, beating every one of them who volunteered to fight her. And when they started to refuse, she fought York while they watched. She beat him, but the smiles and laughter and jeers of the people who gathered to watch made her forgive him for holding back.

“Next time, don’t you dare hold back on me,” she said, giving him a hand to pull him back to his feet.

York was grinning when he took her hand, laughing and taunting. It had been a long time since any of his jokes had actually seemed like real joy was behind them. It was a nice change. A welcome change. The next time they sparred, he didn’t hold back, and she still beat him. After that, South sparred with Maine and then took him on with North on her team. The complex’s forces started to take out bets on who would win each match, offering things like food or taking another’s chores for the day as prizes.

The car from Command pulled into the complex mid-afternoon on their fourth day there. Carolina was taking her lunch outside despite the chill in the air and the snow on the ground, sitting on a low brick wall with York beside her. He hadn’t left her side all day and that would have bothered her if this entire place didn’t feel like some sort of a vacation. It felt like the last vacation they’d have, and she couldn’t shake the apprehension snaking up her spine. If York wanted to hang around, he could. For today.

This car, though, rocketed her straight out of the lazy daze she had been trying to fall into. Once she laid her eyes on it, there was no more trying for anything. She was on her feet in a second, food abandoned where she had sat. From behind her, she heard York sigh lowly. “Looks like business is back,” he said. “Just in time to bite us in the ass.”

Carolina ignored him, striding through the snow. She reached the sleek black car just as the driver’s side door opened and a familiar face grinned at her. That self-assured smile. “...Niner. Wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yeah, it’s a surprise, isn’t it?” 479er was one of Command’s pilots, occasionally a driver. She was usually known only by the call sign,  her handle, and she swore she was the best pilot that damn place had to offer. No, not exactly ‘swore’. She didn’t seem to have to swear about anything. It was just fact. “Didn’t exactly expect to be sent here myself, but, hey. Who am I to deny orders from the guy who signs my checks?”

479er was usually assigned to Carolina’s team. She was their main pilot, even main driver for smaller missions that didn’t require air travel. She was good, she was smart, and here she was now. Standing in the snow of a North Dakota perimeter base in a white and black winter coat, holding a hand out to Carolina.  “Can’t say it’s a bad thing to see you again,” Carolina said, taking her hand with a smile of her own.

And then York was there, nudging Carolina out of the way with a soft bump to her shoulder. “Aw, they sent you,” he said, bypassing her hand to pull Niner into a strong-armed hug. “Our little pilot came to see us off.”

Niner shoved him off, smoothing her hands down the front of her jacket. Her smile faded slightly, but it was still warm, still friendly. “Yeah, nice to see you again too. You give bearhugs to everyone now?”

“Maybe.”

“Go hug Maine,” Carolina told him. “He could use one.”

York snorted. “It’s like you _want_ me to have broken bones.”

“Hug South,” Niner suggested.

“Why are both of you so insistent on me being hurt?”

Carolina glanced at him with a smile. “You told that damn story again, York. I think she was going to hurt you anyway.”

“It’s a good story,” he protested. “One of the best.”

“You’ve told it over five times in the few days we’ve been here.”

“Wait, hold on,” Niner said, drawing both their attention. “This wouldn’t be the story about that one solo mission with the infected German Shepherd and an angry barn cat, would it? The one where York got himself treed and a seven year old boy had a walker on a leash?”

“See, York? You have told that one too often.”

York gave in with grace - for him, anyway. He let it drop, raised his hands in defeat, and made a show out of bemoaning how neither of them had any reason to be so mean. He told Carolina he’d meet them inside, walked off to get their left behind food, and then Niner’s good humor faded into business.

“That’s a mean scar,” she said, the smile falling as she pressed her lips together. “I mean, I saw the report, he’s lucky to be alive, but… Ouch.”

Carolina sighed. “Yeah… but you know York. Nothing stops him.”

Niner made a noise of agreement, reaching behind to grab a file from the car and shut the door. She let Carolina lead her inside, past the room where another poker game with the Dakotas was getting rowdy. Carolina stopped in the cafeteria, where no one would be until dinner was served some four or five hours from now. She took a seat opposite Niner, waiting for the pilot to display whatever it was she had in her file. There was the noise of someone washing dishes in the kitchens. Carolina frowned at the noise and told Niner that, if all the rooms hadn’t been remade, they would have been meeting in a debriefing room.

Niner shrugged it off. “Nah, it’s fine. If I get hungry, I’ll just yell for someone to feed me. They gotta have something here that’s good, right?’

“The porkchops weren’t bad.”

Niner raised an eyebrow. “They have pork?’

“A substitute.”

It was all business after that, provided that Carolina find Niner a few drinks once everything was spelled out. An easy deal; it wasn’t often that Carolina drank at all and a few with a friend wouldn’t hurt.

First, the file. Niner opened it with the information facing Carolina. Pages and pages with details about the black figures she had talked to the Director about. She skimmed them for now, vowing to go over them again later, to learn everything she could from them and memorize it. To find a weakness. Niner told her that there were a few extra files as well, pulling the ones on the black armored foes out of Carolina’s hands and replacing them with others.

These were all profiles. Carolina didn’t ask where the things came from; the Director had a myriad of sources, ways to get information no one had even thought of searching for. They came with photographs, color headshots of each individual, black and white for any others, for grainy pictures pulled from cameras, showing the pair in battle. One captured the smaller one with a blade, driving it through the skull of someone who looked to be uninfected. She squinted at this one, at the man’s posture and stance, at how the other stood behind him, protected him. That was obvious even in the small picture.

The files were almost like resumes, like someone’s personnel files, if such things only contained one brutal act after another. There were three of them, but she focused on the two hired professionals. One’s personality profile included a note of extreme violence and lack of remorse; the second had the words ‘ruthless’ and ‘efficient’, and that did not bode well with the types of things on the remainder of it. Carolina grimaced, tracing over the lists of atrocities listed under the first one - named Felix, according to these files. “Who are these two?”

Niner shrugged. “Couldn’t tell ya. I skimmed the files, didn’t have time to read them entirely. But they’re fucked up guys, I’ll can tell you that.”

“I can see that.” She had paused at his age, sighing. “Jesus Christ, Niner - this guy is only twenty-six.”

“Fucked up guys,” Niner repeated, nodding. “The other one is… twenty-nine, I think it said.” She reached over to tug the other file out of Carolina’s grasp, nodding again. “Yeah. twenty-nine. Look, he doesn't even go by a real name.”

“I’ve never even heard of them,” Carolina said. She continued through the first one, glancing over things that had been labeled as previous assignments. Not a single one was without murder of the uninfected or clearing out zombies.

“They work through an underground network,” Niner answered. “Says so on this prick’s profile. Right above the interesting fact that they bill as partners more often than solo. Fuckin’ mercenary partners.” She sighed, tossed the profile back to Carolina. “I could use those drinks now, but… You might wanna see the third one now. Save the other two for later.”

Her voice was tight, and Carolina abandoned the two mercenaries to look at the third one. Her blood ran cold the instant she saw the photo, before she even read his name. She inhaled sharply, fingers tightening on the file and crumpling the paper where she gripped it. _“Wyoming.”_

They all knew about Wyoming, how he had left the squad, left the Director, but kept the name. They knew how he had become a bounty hunter, taking down people that collected large sums of money, and that he made a lot doing it. But she had never expected to have to come up against him again, and certainly not on a job like this one. She didn’t bother reading the rest of his profile, just shuffled it behind the mercenaries. “What the hell is Wyoming doing out there?”

“Hired to kill people, if I had to bet,” Niner answered. She reached forward again to slide one last thing from the folder. A map of the Canadian hazard zones directly above Montana and North Dakota. “Look, the important thing - the reason they sent me down here with this - is that you have to get to here.” She pointed to a red circle, one that had a route already outlined in matching red ink. “According to Command, the big guns are coming here. Shit’s gonna hit the fan, Carolina, and the man in charge wants you there to catch whoever falls.”

Carolina nodded, tracing the route with her eyes, trying to calculate how long the trip would take. “I suppose he wants us to kill these mercenaries?”

“Don’t know, no one told me that.” She shrugged. “He might call about that. For now, I think, he just wants you to know what you’re up against.”

“I can handle it.”

“Oh, I know. But… one more thing.” Niner unzipped the jacket she wore just enough to reach inside and pull a photograph out of an interior pocket. “Kept fallin’ out of the file,” she said, handing it over. It was just another man, dressed in a light blue winter coat, sniper rifle on his back. “Direct orders: Find him. Bring him back. He’s needed for something top secret, and there’s no one else the Director’s gonna trust on this but you and your team.”

Carolina stared at the photo, at the annoyed expression on the guy’s face, and wondered just why he was important. After a moment, she tucked it into the pocket on her own jacket, throwing the files back together and closing the folder. She owed 479er some drinks, and maybe she could put her mind off of all of this for just a moment. Put all the threats they would face to the back of her mind long enough to enjoy Niner’s company - and, inevitably, York’s.

Before she went to sleep that night, Niner gave condolences about Florida’s death and they had talked extensively about what had happened to Washington. Carolina hadn’t wanted to say he was dead but with nothing else to go on, it was all she had to say. That Wash was dead and that maybe they had the slim chance of finding his corpse. According to Niner, he was listed as MIA until the mission was over. If they didn’t find him then, status changed to KIA and that was it. No more resources wasted on finding him.

It was something she mulled over even as she was pouring over the files she had been given. York had vowed to stay awake with her, but he was snoring, his head on top of one of the mercenary profiles. She let him sleep, tossing a blanket over his shoulders and turning out the overhead lights in her room. A lamp was enough to read these by, turning pages, rereading and rereading and rereading. She had a mission now. She just needed to know what she was facing.

Another car was headed their way, she had been told. One that was loaded with fresh guns and ammo, more food and provisions, enough gas to get them where they were going and back. It was their last refresh on supplies. Carolina was going to be ready when that car pulled into the complex. This mission would finish with no more deaths, no more disappearances. Just take out the enemies, catch the fallout at the camp in Canada they were being sent to, and leave with this man - whoever the hell he was.

Easy enough.


	13. and you've got nothing to lose

Felix didn’t even get two steps into the room before Locus had him pinned to the wall. It wasn’t like he minded, but damn. He writhed under Locus’s hands, against the weight pressing him into the wall. “Mm, someone’s eager,” he breathed. In answer, Locus bit down hard at the base of his throat and Felix jerked, hissing.

It was hours later, long hours that had involved helping the idiots clean the zombie corpses out of the snow-covered yard. They had special pits dug into the ground in the back - pits that existed solely to burn the dead and every zombie had to be piled there. It was hard work that stretched into the night, and Felix had showered afterward. He had stood there, letting the hot water run in some kind of blissful trance until someone had snapped at him to stop wasting so much water. Which led to now, to Felix having Locus’s hands anchored onto him. One on his hip, squeezing; the other yanked at his hair, keeping his neck angled in just the right way.

Over Locus’s shoulder, he could see that some of their supplies had been brought down from the van - Locus’s guns, his pack, a small crate that Felix recognized as one of their medical kits. The guns leaned against the wall. Spare clothes had been set on top of the dresser. Then Locus ground his hips into Felix’s and his attention snapped back to the assault on his neck.

He pressed his hands into Locus’s shoulders, digging his nails in. “Barely in the fuckin’ door and you’re on top of me,” he mused. “Why aren’t you always like this?”

Locus growled into his neck and it vibrated along Felix’s collarbone. “Your bruises are gone. I thought I’d give you more.” He spoke with a hint of amusement to his voice, in low tones that Felix loved. It’d sound even better if he was being fucked against this wall. When he said as much, Locus licked the length of his neck, biting lightly just beneath his ear. He said, “You aren’t in the position to make demands, Felix.”

That was something that was made very obvious very quickly after Locus shoved him into the bed. He pinned Felix’s arms over his head after pulling his shirt off, and the reasoning behind it was totally lost on Felix. Maybe, at some point during those weeks they were apart, he had done something that pissed the asshole off and this was the weird way Locus punished him. Couldn’t exactly say no to fucking Felix, but preventing him from touching himself, from raking his nails down Locus’s back - from touching anything? Yeah. That was how Locus worked.

Only one of Locus’s hands held onto Felix’s wrists, keeping them over his head. He had run the other one over the bandage over Felix’s shoulder, and actually stopped to ask how bad it was. Felix assured him it was fine, it was healing, that they could worry about it later - because he figured he was going to be fucked soon, not pinned to the bed. Any time he fought against Locus, even slightly slipped a hand out of the other man’s grip, Locus would slam his other hand over Felix’s, digging his nails into the skin. And Felix fought Locus’s grip constantly, straining to yank his hands loose. It was driving him mad, being held down like this - and that was probably what Locus was going for.

Without Felix’s hands free, he couldn’t undo his belt. He couldn’t do a thing but lay there underneath Locus. And for whatever reason, Locus wouldn’t take off his pants. He was just grinding into Felix, rolling his hips slowly. Felix bucked his hips up to meet him, but it was mostly out of habit. Also because it had been a really long time and he was getting pretty desperate for this - something he would never admit to in a million years. He grunted, yanked at Locus’s hand over his wrists. “Why do you always do this?” he asked.

Locus was mouthing along Felix’s neck, dragging his teeth over the skin and teasing with light bites. He laughed lowly, right next to Felix’s ear.

“That’s not a fucking answer,” Felix snarled. “Will you just let me go?” He pulled one hand loose and got as far as lying it on Locus’s shoulder before it was dragged back up over his head. “Seriously?! It’s been like…” He paused to bite back a groan as Locus rolled his hips again. “Like, three weeks or something…? And you want to do this?”

Locus hummed in response. His squeezed Felix’s wrists, digging his nails in briefly.

Which left Felix to squirm. He pretended that Locus grinding into him wasn’t enough to make him start whining low in his throat. Though, maybe… Locus _did_ like the noises. Felix shifted underneath Locus, arching his back for more contact and moving his hips to meet Locus’s. Again and again, falling into an easy rhythm. And he whined, high-pitched and needy. “God, Locus,” he said, forcing himself to sound breathless and needy and horny as fuck. Last part wasn’t that hard. “C’mon, man.”

It was a few more seconds before Locus finally let go of his wrists. And the instant he did, Felix’s hands went to Locus’s belt. He snapped it open but before he could remove it, Locus had pulled out of his grip and left the bed entirely.

“What the fuck,” Felix said. He stared at Locus in disbelief, watching as he knelt before his pack on the floor. Felix glanced over at the bedside table, at the half-open drawer, and frowned. Condoms and lube were in there, so whatever the fuck was happening could not be good. He sighed, looked away from Locus, and ran one hand down the front of his pants. He felt his erection, palmed it over his pants - Locus and his stupid perfect rhythm had gotten him hard very, very fast. He was undoing his own pants when his hands were yanked over his head again. Felix angled his head to see Locus tying his hands to the bedframe with a length of rope. “Dude. Locus, what the hell?”

“You,” Locus said. “are not to touch anything.” He undid Felix’s pants quickly, hooking his fingers past the pants and the boxers, pulling them down.

“What the fuck?” Felix said again. He shifted his legs, moving them to make it easier for Locus to pull his pants off. Habit, all out of habit. At the same time, he was twisting his hands to feel how tightly the rope around them really was - the answer was really fucking tight. Locus wasn’t playing games here. “Why are you doing this? Is this how you get off now? Gotta tie me down?”

Locus hovered over him, hands pressing into Felix’s hips. “It’s necessary,” he said.

Felix glared at him. “Yeah, I call bullshit. See, I don’t know if you realize this, you fuckin idiot, but I’m not exactly fighting against you - Just… untie me, man, come on.” The answer he got was Locus leaning down, kissing along Felix’s jawline softly. “Seriously - Like - You could at least _ask_ first?“ His next words were muffled then by Locus’s mouth on his; Felix kissed him back instantly. Locus’s tongue slid into his mouth and he jerked against the rope. He wanted to touch Locus, pull him closer, but because of the rope - god, it had been too long.

Locus’s hands were still on his hips, holding him in place. His thumbs moved in slow circles, just over Felix’s hipbones. Somehow, even that was shooting straight to his groin. Dragging his fingers over the skin, Locus settled one hand at the base of Felix’s cock. “Don’t move,” he ordered.

The fuck was that supposed to mean? His hands were tied - and he was nude. Where was he gonna go? Felix squirmed again, frustrated, and scoffed. “Yeah, I’m gonna go somewhere with you on top of me,” he said. “Can you just do something? This teasing shit isn’t cool.”

The bastard laughed then, quiet and low and that _really_ should not have been an attractive sound. Not right now, when Felix was clearly being mocked. Locus slid his hand up the length of Felix’s cock, slowly, and smiled. “Don’t move,” he repeated, running his thumb over the head. “I’ll be right back.” And then he started to push off the bed.

What. The fuck.

Felix tried to hook one leg around Locus’s waist and was pushed back down. Locus stood over him, and ran one hand up his chest, up his neck, and took him by the jaw. “It won’t take long,” Locus said, leaning down to kiss him again.

“You’re a fucking dick,” Felix snapped when he pulled away. “You can’t seriously leave me like this!”

But Locus was already moving from his side. He took his phone off the bedside table, looking at its screen and ignoring Felix’s protests.

“Locus!” He pulled at the ropes, using as much force as he could. “Don’t you dare!”

Locus left the room then, the door shutting behind him, and Felix cursed loudly for a long time. He struggled against the ropes, doing nothing but tiring himself out and making the injury to his shoulder flare up again. When he slumped down onto the bed, his shoulders ached, the wound was throbbing, and his wrists were stinging. Felix glared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the cool air covering his skin - and, oh yeah, the fact that he was naked, dick still hard and hanging out for anyone to see.

Fuckin’ great.

“Waited fuckin weeks for this,” he muttered. “Almost died. The fucking prick.”  He sighed, loud and angrily, and bucked his whole body forward. Nope. Didn’t do anything but make the rope bite into his wrists. He lay there for a couple of minutes, staring at the ceiling, not moving. That goddamn bullet wound was pulsating and that only pissed him off more.

After a while, he heard the door creak open. Without looking, he said, “Locus…?”

Nothing but a sharp, irritated noise. Then - “Oh, what the fuck? Nope. No. Absolutely not.” The door slammed shut, and from the other side of it, Felix heard a loud, angry voice practically shouting: “What the _fuck is wrong with you people?!”_

Felix cursed under his breath. Lovely, now one of those idiots had seen him naked. He decided then that he was going to kick Locus in the fucking face when he got back. If he could break out of this goddamn knot, he’d go find the asshole now, beat him until he bled. It would be very relaxing.

But he couldn’t do that because Locus was some kind of knot expert. When the door opened again, Felix said nothing. He didn’t move, didn’t do anything but stare at the ceiling and wait. He knew it was Locus when the door shut again and footsteps stopped at his side. He was still staring pointedly at the ceiling when a hand landed on his leg, fingers running over his skin so lightly they barely touched him at all. He said, “You fucker.”

Locus was in his line of sight now, peering at him with an impassive face. His lips twitched with just the barest hint of amusement and Felix scowled.

“You irritated the goddamn wound,” he snarled. “All that bullshit with ‘Ohh, Felix, I hope it doesn’t hurt _too much_ ’, ‘We don’t want you to be in _too much pain_ today’.” Every word he said was mocking and full of bullshit because Locus hadn’t said any of that. Locus had asked him plainly if his shoulder was alright. If he could stand what they usually did. “And what happened? Irritated wound. All your fault.”

“ _You_ irritated the wound,” Locus said, leaning over him. “Not me. You shouldn’t have fought against the rope. It got you nowhere.” His attention was on Felix’s hands, and when he reached up and pressed his fingers against the binds, Felix threw his head back to watch. Victory was in sight already, it seemed. Locus put pressure against the red lines the rope had scratched into his wrists, dug a finger underneath one and pulled.

Then he let go, leaving the barest inch of extra give to the rope, and Felix glared at the rope wound around his wrists. “Motherfucker, let me go,” he snapped.

Locus responded by gripping Felix at his waist, by moving him up by a few inches. He rested against the pillows now with less space between where he laid and the headboard. He flexed his wrists, frowning. “It should be less of a problem now,” Locus said. He trailed his fingers down Felix’s arm from the wrist to the shoulder. “If you think you can’t handle it - “

“I can handle you fucking me,” Felix snapped. His anger at Locus was still boiling, but there was no way he was not going to be fucked tonight. “Don’t treat me like some pathetic child, alright? Just _untie me.”_

His wrists were still tied to the bed when Locus shed the rest of his clothes and forced his fingers into Felix’s mouth. His legs were splayed over Locus’s thighs; the direct contact felt like it was burning him, and Felix glared at Locus the entire time he slavered over the fingers in his mouth, sliding his tongue around them. Locus’s eyes were trained on his mouth and Felix let his lips fall open just slightly, reveling in the fact that he could hold the bastard’s attention so easily. When Locus pulled his fingers from his mouth, Felix licked over his lips slowly, bit harshly at his bottom lip and watched with delight that persisted through his anger - fuckin’ Locus and his dominance bullshit couldn’t tear his eyes from Felix’s mouth.

He slid one spit-slicked finger into him and Felix growled. “Untie me,” he said again.

Locus leaned down to kiss him, biting almost the exact spot he had been worrying at seconds before. He swept his tongue over Felix’s lips before pulling back. By then, he was stroking Felix’s cock slowly. “You’re not giving demands here. It’ll be easier if you accept that.”

“Fuck you,” Felix snarled. It melted into a groan at the end as Locus added another finger, pressing into him. His glare had waned just a bit by the time Locus reached over to pull open the top drawer of the bedside table. Just the _slightest_ bit. He thought that, maybe - just maybe - if he was going to be fucked the way he hoped, he wouldn’t be all that angry by the end of it. Which was something he could deal with. He bit down on his lip again when Locus pushed his cock into him, tensing, hands clenching into fists in the binds.

He said, “You better fuck me hard.”

Locus wasn’t moving, just pressing against his hips, staring down at him. “What was it I said about demands, Felix?”

Felix didn’t answer. He squeezed his thighs around Locus and rocked backwards into him because if Locus wasn’t going to move, then fuck it, he’d do it himself. But then Locus’s hands were pressing down on his hips, keeping him from moving. Felix groaned. He needed to move - he was being fucked now, sure, Locus slamming into him. But it didn’t have the roughness or the speed he wanted, and with his hips being pressed into the mattress, Locus wasn’t hitting as deep as he would have liked.

Vague curses spilled from his lips, groans and hitching breaths. Locus kissed his neck and his jawline, sliding one arm underneath Felix and grasping at his back. He scratched, dug his fingers in tightly, rolling his hips at a steady pace.

Felix wanted more. Being fucked like this was lighting all his nerves on fire, leaving him aching for a bone deep pleasure that wasn’t going to happen. It felt like he was just an inch from what he wanted, and it was driving him insane. He whined into Locus’s ear, arching his back. Locus still held him down with one hand on his hips, fingers pushing into his flesh, gripping tight enough to leave bruises. Felix pulled against the restraints, pulled hard, and the wound in his shoulder throbbed sharply enough for his next breath to be laced with pain.

Locus slowed instantly, raising his head from Felix’s throat to look him in the eye. There was a flash of concern in his eyes. “Felix,” he said and it was low, spoken on an exhale. “Is it your shoulder?”

“I’m fine,” Felix said. It was basically a whimper because Locus was moving so goddamn slow now. That was pathetic, great, good job. He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his head back on the pillow. “I’m _fine._ ” Locus let go of his hip, leaving Felix to squirm against the slow rolling thrusts. He felt Locus’s hand at his wrist, tracing the ropes digging into his skin. “If you stop,” he ground out between gritted teeth. “I swear to God, I’ll… I’ll…” He trailed off, bringing his legs up higher around Locus.

Locus forced his fingers between Felix’s, telling him to relax his arms. “At least relax your hands,” he said.

Felix exhaled sharply. “Shut up. Fuck me.” He was glaring at Locus as best he could when he was rutting against the cock in his ass. Locus had stilled completely now, flattening his palm against Felix’s own.

There was still concern in Locus’s face, in the way his eyes were narrowed and how his brows knit together. He watched Felix watching him, and Felix whined. It was so pitiful that he hated it and trained his gaze on the ceiling. Anything to avoid looking at Locus while he was making all this noise. Pathetic, whining sounds rose from his mouth and he forced his hands to unclench. He drew in large breaths that came out shaking, pulling more desperate noises out of him. He clutched at Locus’s hand, interlocking their fingers and squeezing.

Locus shifted, and Felix whimpered - again, fucking pathetic. That wasn’t even a roll of Locus’s hips, just a shift of his weight, a slight movement of his cock. Felix groaned: “ _Locus_ … please…” When Locus moved again, Felix closed his eyes, swallowing hard. “Don’t stop,” he said quietly. He felt the heat rising over his face as he spoke. “ _Please_ … You don’t have to untie me, just - God - _fffuck_ , please… don’t - don’t stop.” It was humiliating being brought to this, but it felt like Locus had hardly done anything to him. It worked though, and each roll of Locus’s hips drew more words out of him, a steady stream of nothing but begging.

It sounded pathetic to his ears but Locus was fucking him again, harder now, faster, hitting the pace that Felix had been aching for just minutes earlier. He knew it was because he was begging, because he couldn’t stop begging once he started. Just a low, constant murmur of, ‘Don’t stop,’ and, ‘Please’, and Locus loved it. His nails were digging into the back of Felix’s hand and he was mouthing along Felix’s collarbones and neck again, leaving marks that wouldn’t fade for a while.

Felix came with Locus’s name on his lips and Locus groaned into his neck. Somewhere in the back of Felix’s mind, past the shuddering mess that he was right now, he marked that down as a victory. It had been a while since he said Locus’s name on orgasm and damn if it didn’t have an effect. Locus was clutching him tightly, keeping their bodies pressed together. He finished not even a minute later, his face in the crook of Felix’s neck.

They laid there for a while, Felix relaxing with Locus lying on top of him. He rubbed his thumb along Locus’s hand, their fingers still intertwined. It was pleasant enough despite Locus’s weight, and when he asked again to be untied, Locus listened. Felix laid his hands on Locus’s arms, running them over the sweaty skin and up to Locus’s neck, where he could pull himself up for a kiss. Long and slow, because Felix didn’t have the energy to do anything else.

“Clean me,” he demanded when they separated. He was tracing over Locus’s collarbones with one hand, barely noticing. “I think I deserve it.” There was an old scar there, marring the skin, and Felix ran his fingers over it slowly. Some scar from years ago, from when Felix had slashed at him. He touched it now and thought that it was so good to leave permanent marks on Locus’s skin. If he wanted to, he was certain he could remember how it had felt to cut as deep as he had.

Locus rolled his eyes at Felix’s request, pulling away from him. The air was colder after Locus left, and he sighed; if it wasn’t for the mess on his stomach, he would have rolled over right then and buried himself in the blankets. Instead, he rubbed at his wrists, at the deep indents that the rope had left. He watched Locus wipe a cloth over his stomach and said, “Still mad you tied me up.”

“You’ll get over it,” Locus answered.

Felix pushed himself up on his elbows, huffing with as much overdramatic flair as he could muster at the moment, which wasn’t a lot. “Maybe I should get to tie you down next time. See how you like it.”

Locus didn’t even bother to answer that one. He spread his hand over Felix’s freshly cleaned stomach, raking his nails up lightly. Felix stuck his tongue out and Locus sighed. “Don’t be childish,” he said, climbing back into bed to lay beside Felix.

“Is that code for ‘Stop it, you’re making me feel like I fucked a kid’?”

“Felix.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Stop talking.”

Felix was silent for as long it took to squirm underneath the covers. The warmth started to settle around him instantly. As soon as Locus joined him, he said, “Also mad you left me lying here naked. Like, what the fuck was that?” He laid on his back, rubbing the fingers of one hand over the wrist of the other without noticing. His eyes were on Locus’s face, watching the subtle shifting of his expression.

“You act like that was the first time it’s happened,” Locus said. He had the fingers of one hand laying against Felix’s chest, at the edge of the bite marks and bruises at the base of his throat. Admiring his own work, the jackass. “You’ve never had such an issue with it before.”

“Never had someone find me like that before,” Felix said.

Locus laughed - quiet, short, and quickly choked back down. “It was a good show for them, then.” His fingers inched up Felix’s neck, ghosting over the skin.

“You are such an asshole.” He swatted at Locus’s hand, rolling onto his side, into the heat that radiated from the other man. It was strange how much he missed the instant heat that enveloped him when Locus was close. Especially in situations like now, when Felix was still coasting on the afterglow. He laid a hand on Locus’s chest only for fingers to close lightly around his wrist.

Locus raised his hand up, trailing his thumb across the indents as Felix had before, and then he kissed the inside of his wrist softly.

Felix made a face. “Don’t make things weird, man,” he muttered.

Locus ignored him. Or maybe he didn’t, because the next thing Felix knew, the motherfucker was yanking him close and nuzzling into his neck. Felix bit down on his tongue to stifle a really undignified squeal but it still shot out of his mouth. Locus wrapped both arms around him, holding him tight, running his hands down Felix’s back - and he was still nuzzling at his neck, leaving those stupid soft kisses over the worst of the bites. Lingering kisses that tingled in a way Felix didn’t expect to enjoy as much as he did.

His hands were trapped against Locus’s chest and he tried to use them to shove himself away. “Fuckin’ - Stop! Let go,” he said. There was a touch of anger to his words, not enough to make any decent threats, because Felix was starting to tire. He always did, if it was late enough and Locus fucked him well enough (and, he had to admit, Locus always fucked fantastically well).

Locus breathed in deeply from where his face was tucked into Felix’s neck, near his clavicle. His breath sent a shiver down Felix’s spine. He said, “You’re lying naked in a bed with another man,” and Felix wrenched a hand loose to pull at his hair. Locus ignored it, kept talking. “I’ve known you for years. We’ve slept together for years.”

“Don’t put it that way,” Felix muttered. “We fuck. That’s it.”

Locus’s hands dug into his back in a way that mirrored that moment in the medbay all those hours ago. Felix didn’t want to call it an embrace because that word implied way too much - but that was it had been. He shifted in Locus’s grip, wanting to be loose. Locus continued to talk, moving up to speak directly into his ear. “You spend more time in my apartment than your own. You haven’t been out of my presence for longer than four days this entire time, if we ignore these past few weeks.”

“Fuck you,” Felix said.

“And, yes - I fuck you.” He paused, and Felix can actually feel his lips spreading into a smile against his skin. “You had another man’s dick in your ass not even ten minutes ago, but this is what bothers you?” He kissed Felix’s neck again, softly, left his lips lingering there.

Felix was too tired to do this, too tired to argue his point. He sighed, “It’s bothersome because you make it that way,” and felt Locus laughing silently. “Don’t laugh at me, it’s true!”

Locus pulled away from his neck, pulled Felix’s hand from his hair. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, and before Felix could retort, he leaned forward and kissed him again. He ran a hand from Felix’s back and over his side and his bare hip, resting just slightly on his ass. Felix pulled away from the kiss, burrowing his face into Locus’s chest just so he didn’t have to look at him. He folded an arm under his head to avoid reaching out and touching Locus but the other one pressed into Locus’s skin anyway, tracing over the old scars.

Neither of them spoke and before too long, Felix was asleep. He didn’t wake when Locus sat up to turn off the lights, only mumbled when he was tugged forward to lay against Locus’s chest. His eyes fluttered open briefly when he felt Locus’s fingers kneading at his scalp, but all he did was lean into it before falling asleep again. He woke hours later, feeling one of Locus’s hands loosely cupping his ass and the overwhelming need to piss.

It took him several minutes to find out where Locus had thrown his pants and to pull on his boots. Didn’t bother to tie the laces, too tired, no point when he was just going to kick them off again. It’d be easier if he could just walk around nude but no, too many people. On his way back to his room, his bleary-eyed gaze landed on Tucker standing in the middle of the hall. He raised his eyebrows.

Tucker’s eyes were wide, face curled in disgust. He made an angry noise and turned, stalking back to his room. “Fuckin’ asshole,” he shot over his shoulder.

Felix frowned. That was going to need to be looked into later. For now, he went back to his bed, back to Locus, and stripped down again, sinking into the blankets. Locus slid an arm around his waist instantly, pulling him close. When he woke again, it was to someone knocking on the door.

“Hey. Idiots.”

Texas.

Felix didn’t open his eyes, sighing against Locus’s skin. Texas said, “Breakfast is in half an hour. Get the fuck up or don’t eat.”

He heard the door click as she shut it and still didn’t move. It was quiet, warm, and for the first time in weeks, Felix felt as if he had actually slept soundly. No residual nerves or that nagging feeling of forgotten nightmares. Locus was tracing circles into his skin, moving up his hip and onto his back, and Felix focused on that, nearly falling asleep again. Eventually, he said, “Think I could punch Tex for waking us up?’

“Only if you want to lose your hand,” Locus answered.

That was the thing about having Texas around again. Bodily harm could happen at any moment because Felix couldn’t figure out when she was in a good mood or a bad one. It was impossible to tell and even though he tried very, very hard to take note of what would piss her off, he always managed to find something new. Like today, when she twisted her hands in his hair painfully and slammed his head into the cafeteria table.

All he had done was ask her how meeting an old boyfriend went. “...Does this mean it didn’t go well?” he asked. Knew it was a bad idea the instant he had said it.

Tex slammed an elbow into his shoulder - the fucking wounded one. Felix bit down a strangled yelp; that would have hurt no matter what but holy fuckin’ hell. She said, “Huh. Forgot you had been shot.”

“You’re a fuckin’ bitch,” Felix snarled. Her hands left him and he straightened, rubbing at the sore shoulder.

Church sat down across from him, next to where Tex’s tray of food sat. He heard this last exchange and said, “Watch your fuckin’ mouth, kid.”

Felix ignored him. Church wasn’t a threat, not in any way. He didn’t appreciate the idiot calling him ‘kid’ - hell, he barely tolerated it when Tex said it - but he passed on starting a pointless fight. It was too early, for one thing, and the smell of food was making his stomach growl.

Breakfast, as it turned out, was cooked entirely by Donut. Who was so goddamn chipper even in the morning that Felix had passed on going up there to get food from the guy. There were bruises spreading across his neck and though he had pulled on his jacket and fastened everything up to his neck, some were still visible. Just barely, but they were there, and he had the feeling Donut would spot them immediately. Not something he wanted to deal with. At least the worst ones - the ones that were clearly going to end up being dark mottled blues and purples - those were hidden at the base of his throat.

It was good to have his own jacket back too. It fit better than the other one he’d been wearing. Plus, the orange highlights were always nice and he could flip the collar up to hide Locus’s goddamn marks if they went too high up his neck. The only problem was that the sleeves didn’t quite cover his wrists. They were shorter on purpose, made to match a set of gloves that would strap down over the ends of the sleeves.

Texas wasn’t going to say anything about his bruises. Because Texas did not want to talk about how Felix and Locus fucked, may God bless her angry fucking soul, and he loved that one thing about her.

Because then Wash sat down beside him and took one look at his wrists. “...What happened to you?” he asked carefully. Sounded like he regretted asking as soon as the words were out.

Felix stared at his wrists as Texas sighed and shook her head. “Don’t ask him about bruises,” she said, pointing a fork in his direction.

The marks on his wrists were already discolored, really nasty looking, on their way to being some kind of sick combination of green and purple. Felix said, “I fought against a rope.” He glanced at the food on Wash’s plate and reached over to pull off a slice of orange. He smiled at the answering glare. “Do you want the whole story?” He wasn’t too thrilled with anyone bringing up marks on his skin because no one ever seemed the grasp the idea that rough sex was a thing, but teasing Wash was just too much fun.

“No. Please, God, don’t explain.”

“But you _asked_.” He took an entire apple from Wash and bit into it. “I think you deserve all the details.”

Wash frowned at him. “I changed my mind. I don’t care. And go get your own food.”

Felix shook his head. He had told Locus to bring him something to eat but really didn’t have faith in that. Pilfering food from Wash was probably going to be the only way he got anything. He said, “See, Wash - sweetheart - it started because someone thought it would be a good idea to tie me to a bed.”

Several things happened instantly: Wash slid several inches away from him, sighing; across the table, Texas glanced up and said, “You wanna shut your boyfriend up?” On the tail end of her sentence, Church slammed both his hands on the table and hissed ‘Tucker’ under his breath. And then Locus was settling down next to him, eyeing him like he was curious what Felix was up to.

Locus said, “Whatever you’re doing - don’t.”

Felix snapped at Tex instead of him: “I am no one’s boyfriend.”

Wash looked at Church and said, “I know I’m going to regret this - but what about Tucker?”

Church looked to where Tucker was sitting with Grif and Simmons, frowning. “He’s been a bitch all fuckin’ morning, the pissy whining fuck he is, and when I asked him why,” -here, he looked back at Felix- “he said something about naked guys tied to bed frames and how he wanted to burn his eyes out.” That look he was giving Felix was pretty rude. Like he thought Felix was some twisted piece of shit.

Felix blinked. “Ohh, I get it.” He grinned, slapping Locus on the shoulder. “Remember how I told you someone saw me? I fucking told you not to leave, but did you listen? No, of course not, gotta be a domineering asshole.“

Locus shrugged his hand off. “Stop talking,” he said. “Eat.”

“I don’t need breakfast,” Felix answered. “Got half an apple left so - hey…” He frowned. Locus had reached over and snagged the fruit out of his hand.

He still refused to go up to that counter. Instead, he listened to Church and Tex talk about nothing - seriously, their conversation didn’t seem to make any sense at all. Eventually, Wash left with his empty plate and came back with a smile on his face. Locus, of course, didn’t say much of anything, which left Felix talking with Church and Tex about how all the faces in their dreams were dead people. It made no sense, but Church was adamant about it.

Then the conversation was cut short as a plate slid onto the table in front of Felix. Toasted bread, orange slices, a few slices of seared meat, and what looked like actual potatoes. There were also three small pills sitting in a little plastic cup.

And then Donut was straddling the bench seat beside him, grinning. “Hi,” he said. “Wash said you were too sore to leave the table! So I brought you breakfast - and some painkillers, I know what it’s like to not want to stand after some nights.” He laid a hand on Felix’s shoulder, and Felix stared at him with so much irritation it was a miracle that Donut could ignore it. Then his eyes landed on Felix’s neck and the grin faded. He glanced at his wrists, and nodded. Squeezed Felix’s shoulder just slightly. “You should get a safeword, by the way. I have one.” He winked before he slid off the seat.

Felix stared blankly at the space the obnoxious idiot had been, then looked at Wash. Fucker was laughing. “ ‘Too sore to leave the table’...?” Felix repeated weakly. “Really?”

Wash didn’t answer. He just put his head in his hands, trying and failing to stifle the laughter. Tex was snorting into her drink; beside her, Church managed to say, “Donut’s such a nice guy….” and then collapsed into giggles as well. When Felix looked over at him, Locus’s shoulders were shaking.

“You’re all assholes,” Felix said, glaring half-heartedly at the table. He smacked Locus’s thigh with one hand. “Especially you - seriously, even _you’re_ going to laugh?”

“You should take those pills,” was all he said.

Breakfast ended with Texas leaving an unfinished statement about her bike hanging between them, an outright threat to kick his ass for running off with it. Saved her life and all she cared about was that fucking bike. Figures. At the kitchen, Donut took his plate back, spouted more nonsense about safewords and general bullshit that was cut short by the presence of Caboose and the fact that nothing he said made any sense. Felix stared him down from a foot away, thinking about what the kitchen counter would look like with Donut’s brains splattered on it. He hadn’t strapped the pistol to his hip that morning, lured into a sense of security now that Locus was with him again, so he stowed the idea away for later and painted a fake smile on his face. Thanked Donut for the pills, assured him that if things got out of hand, it’d be handled easily.

It was easy to keep smiling once he started. Even when he left the cafeteria and was met with Locus waiting for him, it was easier to keep smiling than to do anything else. Especially when Locus seized him by the waist and yanked him away from the door, kissing him slowly. It was short, cut off by the door opening beside them and Felix taking a couple of steps back.

It turned out to just be Tex and Wash. Tex said, “We’re gonna go look at what these guys have for guns. Wanna come?”

He had the vague sense that she owed them something. Locus answered for them both. “I need to get Felix to our van,” he said. “We might join you later.” Which, naturally, had Felix on his heels the whole way up to the garage, asking what the fuck that was about, why go to the van? Sure, they had time to kill for now, but what was he gonna do?

He repeated that very thing to Locus as he stood by the van, leaning against the side of it and watching Texas and Wash enter the room at the back of the garage. A kind of armory, he assumed. “Doesn’t she owe us some stuff?” he asked. He heard the back doors of the van being opened and glanced back. Locus was watching him. “Like, I don’t know… Can’t we take some guns? I know we have a lot, but what else could we have…?”

Locus said, “Come here,” and Felix was certain that he was being ignored. He threw one last glance at the door Tex and Wash had disappeared into before taking the few steps to Locus’s side.

The van’s interior was clean, everything tucked away exactly where it was supposed to be, not a thing out of place. For fuck’s sake, even the empty gun racks  - the ones that showed which weapons currently sat in their room - even those were neat. Like Locus had taken three guns from the van’s wall in a way that would make it look organized somehow. The cleanliness of it was disrupted only by the motorcycle locked onto the floor underneath the gun racks. Felix could see the dirt and dust that covered it from where he stood, but there it was – his motorcycle, the expensive custom-made machine that was one of his most prized possessions. Back where it actually belonged.

He was on the van’s floor beside it in seconds. He laid a hand on the front wheel, and said quietly, “Gonna need new tires,” He was grinning as he ran his hands over the wheel, the handlebars – but, then. “Is this… blood?”

“Never got around to cleaning it,” Locus said from where he stood. “Figured you could take care of it.”

Felix’s grin faded into a smirk as he traced one finger over the bloodstains. It stood out on the black paint, dull where the paint was shining. What Locus meant was that he had assumed Felix wouldn’t mind cleaning the entire bike – wasn’t exactly wrong about that – but what he thought of then was that injured kid and the gunshot that had torn through him. “You shot that kid, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Not even a second of hesitation. What a guy. Felix looked up, caught his gaze, and said, “The kid is here, y’know – if it’s the one you shot. Downstairs, in the med wing. Doc doesn’t seem too optimistic about his odds.”

Locus’s eyes narrowed.

“Kid could die. Say… tonight. No one would even wonder about it. He’s so far gone, I think they expect it.”

Locus climbed into the van then, slamming the doors behind him. He kneeled down beside Felix, resting a hand on his neck. His fingers spread down past the jacket collar and Felix wondered what the hell the point to that was. Not like he was going to complain, but Locus and unneeded physical contact didn’t usually go together. Locus spoke and his voice was low, like he expected someone to be able to hear him through the van’s walls and locked doors. “Do you really intend to kill him?”

“Do you really need to ask?” Felix said, eyebrows raised. That kid’s death warrant had been signed the instant he had made the decision to take Felix’s bike.

Locus stared at him for a few more seconds, fingers moving slightly against Felix’s skin. “No guns,” he said.

“Too loud, I know.”

“Too _noticeable_ ,” Locus said. “Too flashy. No knives, either. It would mean making up a story for needing them.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I’m not an amateur, Locus. I can fool these idiots. One of them could find me slashing the kid’s throat and I’d still get away with it.”

“No knives,” he repeated. His fingers squeezed before he drew his hand away and stood. “I have something better for this.”  He was reaching up to the ceiling; the van wasn’t quite tall enough for someone of Locus’s height to stand straight – not that Felix could either, not without slamming his head into the roof – and he stretched now as best he could. His fingers trailed over it, eyes focused, and Felix wondered just what the fuck he was doing.

Then he stopped, the lightest smile flashing over his face, and a section of the van’s roof slid back.

Felix blinked. “Locus. What the fuck Is that? Did you put hidden compartments in _my van?”_

“Yes. And it’s _our_ van, Felix. Both our names are on the papers.”

“Fuck you, it’s mine.”

Locus reached into the unveiled compartment with one hand, gripping something that Felix could barely make out.

“Why are there secret compartments in my van?’’ Felix asked him.

“To keep things away from you,” Locus answered smoothly. He settled back down beside Felix, legs folded, holding a small steel case in his hands. It almost looked like a briefcase. “Usually I keep extra ammunition or sensitive materials up there. For this job, however… I hid this.”

Felix reached for it and Locus grabbed him by the wrist. “What is it?”

In answer, he let go of Felix and flicked the locks open. Inside, held down by black straps and fitted into deep grooves within the interior, were two rows of vials. There were six total, all filled with a green liquid so light that it was almost clear. Each vial had a syringe beside it, and each syringe was sealed in a small plastic bag.

Felix stared at it. “…Again, I have to ask – what is it?”

“Concentrated virus,” Locus answered. “As I recall, they created it by combining the dormant virus from a human with the live virus found in the walking dead.” He set the case between them on the van floor, and pulled one vial loose. Its accompanying syringe came with it. “It’s used to create spontaneous viral amplification in any individual.”

For some reason, the first thing he wanted to ask was why it was green. What he said instead was, “You got this from Control, didn’t you?”

Locus nodded, but his eyes narrowed again. It was almost quizzical, almost curious – he wanted to ask how the hell Felix knew that, he was sure.

So he said: “Wash told me a story that involved a little case filled with little vials. Also had some of Control’s men in it, some infected people dying in the back of a van… I can put two and two together.” He reached to take another vial from the case and Locus flipped the lid. He frowned, looking at Locus and then to the vial in his hands. “So? You gonna give it over so I can go shoot the kid up with virus?”

Locus shook his head and Felix huffed angrily. “There’s a reason you haven’t seen this,” he said. “It was a failsafe given by Control’s private security. To be used only if we have no other solution.” He looked at the vial he held and added, “I shouldn’t be using it for this, but since you won’t let this drop – “

“Give it over already.”

“No.”

“Why the fuck not?”

Locus unsealed the syringe’s bag then. He popped the lid off the vial, revealing a plastic cover underneath that the syringe’s needle slid through easily. “The word Control used to describe you when I received this – the reason they wanted it to be kept a secret – is because you are volatile. Unpredictable. Reckless.” He filled the syringe halfway before stopping and pushing the plastic cover back over it. “They considered this too valuable to give to you.”

Felix said nothing. He wasn’t going to deny any of it – some of those words were a goddamn compliment. All he was going to do was wait. He waited for Locus to seal everything back up, to put the vial back into the case with the rest of it. When Locus finally pressed the syringe into Felix’s palm, he seized his wrist with the other hand.

“If that syringe pricks you,” he said, his hand closing over Felix’s tightly. “Then you die.”

“Yeah, okay – “

“If you break it, if you inhale any of it, ingest any of it – “

“I die. Yeah. I got that, thanks.”

“Felix.”

_“What?“_

Both of Locus’s hands squeezed then and he felt the curve of the syringe sinking into his palm. “You’re going to need to be extremely careful with this.”

Felix rolled his eyes and yanked his hand away from Locus.  He slid the vial between his fingers, watching the liquid move. It was thicker than water, he could tell. Might even be thicker than blood. “I’m not an idiot,” he said. “I can keep one syringe from breaking.” He slid the syringe into a pocket on the front of the jacket. If it did break, he could just burn the whole damn jacket.

It’d be a pity to lose such a nice jacket, but he could always order a new one when this was over.

Locus leaned in to kiss him, biting his lip, and Felix grinned. “It’ll need to be done quickly,” Locus said. He was close enough that Felix could feel his lips moving as he spoke, and damn if that was going to happen without Felix kissing him again. Locus shoved him back almost instantly. “And late at night, when no one else should be awake.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it,” Felix said, leaning forward again. “Shut up and kiss me.”

He did - of course he did; Felix was difficult to ignore, especially when he had his arms around Locus’s neck, forcing him to close the gap between them. Locus rested a hand at his side, holding onto him loosely. He was grasping Felix’s neck with the other, fingers digging into the skin. Another slow, long kiss with Locus taking control and pulling low, pleased noises out of Felix. When they separated, he thought that something was off about the whole thing. Like, how many goddamn times Locus could kiss him softly like this before it went back to the brutal hunger he was used to. Before he figured it out, even had time to think on it, Locus was forcing his mouth open again.

Someone rapped on the back doors of the van, and they ignored it. Felix tightened his arms; Locus was holding his face by now, fingers trailing over the skin softly. Everything was soft, even the pressure of Locus’s lips on his.

Whoever was at the door knocked again - louder, more insistent. Locus pulled away just barely and Felix ran his tongue over his lips. “You had better not be planning to open that door,” he said quietly.

“You really believe they’re going to leave?” Locus’s voice was as quiet as his, but even lower and rougher than usual.

Felix growled, wound a hand into Locus’s hair, and slammed their lips back together briefly. “They’d better,” he said. “or I will kill them.”

And then Locus was kissing him again, like he was the most important thing in the universe. There was a nagging thought in the back of his mind that it shouldn’t be like this, that Felix should be biting on Locus’s lips or pulling his hair or fighting the way his tongue moved through his mouth - but he wasn’t. Couldn’t really land on why this was such a problem. Because Locus kissed like a fucking god.

It wasn’t knocking at the doors then - it was someone’s fist pounding into it.

Felix growled again, into Locus’s mouth, and pulled back. Whatever had been fueling this to make it so different than usual was shattered because of some insistent asshole. Locus was settling back away from Felix, glancing over his shoulder at the door behind him.

“Get the door,” Locus said. He took the case in his hand, standing to slide it back into the compartment. Secret compartments in the ceiling. Felix was going to kick his ass for that one day. Maybe when they were back home, where there wouldn’t be zombies to constantly force the two of them together.

He threw the door of the van open, leaning heavily on it as it swung and very nearly spilling out of the van entirely. He’d intended to glare and snark at whoever had been there, but since his gaze landed on Wash standing there and looking slightly uncomfortable, he grinned instead. “What’s up, sweetheart?” he asked. “Need me for something?”

Wash was standing far enough back that not only did the door avoid hitting him but he was able to sidestep the hand that reached for him. Felix’s grin didn’t even waver as his hand missed Wash’s shoulder. “No. It’s just - “

“Do you wanna tour?” Felix interrupted. He shoved the other door open as well, bringing Wash’s attention to the numerous guns on the wall and the bike beneath them. He heard Locus moving around back there and added, “There’s plenty of room in here if you want to join us. “

“...No.” His eyes didn’t move away from the guns, taking in the empty slots. “Tex sent me to get you.”

Felix leaned close to Wash, depending on the door to keep him from falling onto the garage floor. Underneath the glare of the garage’s lights, Wash’s eyes looked grey. “Aw, sweetheart, don’t ruin things by bringing her in too. Three is a good number, see.”

“She said she owes you,” he continued, ignoring every word Felix had said. “Though I really hope it isn’t to give you two weapons because you seem to have enough to go around.”

“Could always use a missile launcher,” Felix said with a shrug. “Oh - and bombs. Fresh out of bombs, I’m afraid. A shame, I always used to enjoy blowing things up.”

Wash’s gaze focused behind him and Felix had no warning before one of Locus’s hands was on his belt, pulling him back. He sat on his knees then, leaning forward against the open door still - just not as far out. “Try not to fall on the pavement,” Locus said. He slipped his hand over Felix’s ass, squeezing, and added, “No one wants to clean your brains off the floor.”

Felix ignored him and the warmth that spread from his hand. He couldn’t ignore that this was another entirely unprovoked and unneeded physical contact. In full view of someone else, too - well, no. Not exactly. Locus was sliding his fingers over the curve of Felix’s ass, and Wash seemed to have no idea. So it was… physical contact that managed to discrete even when it involved his ass being groped.

Wash was talking and Felix barely heard him. “Actually… Texas implied that only you were going to get the guns.” He was speaking to Locus now, which was a great thing because Felix’s attention was divided between the hand on his ass and how Wash’s eyes looked darker under these lights than they did outside. When those same eyes snapped back to Felix, he had slapped another smile on his face in a seconds. “Church is back,” he said. “And he says it’s your turn to go hunting for food.”

It took a bit for that to process. “...My... turn? I don’t think it’s my turn to do anything.”

Wash shrugged. “Not my decision, sorry. Something about you being the new guy.”

“You’re new too!”

“Yeah, I am. So?”

Felix frowned and shifted, rubbing against Locus’s hand without thinking about it. “So… Come with me. It’ll be like old times.”

“Old times - what, like two days ago?”

Felix nodded. Some time with Wash instead of Locus would be good, give him time to think without Locus distracting him. And goddamn, did he need to think. He watched Wash leave, after Locus had agreed to meet with Texas and he had agreed not to call Wash ‘sweetheart’ while they were hunting. He watched Wash until Locus started sliding his other hand down his thigh, and then he twisted back around.

He still sat on his knees, but Locus was a lot closer than he had thought. And spinning around like he had done had just given the asshole an excuse to wrap an arm around him. Now that Wash was gone, Locus slid his hand right under Felix’s pants, running his other up the inside of Felix’s thigh. He was close enough that Felix could lean forward again and kiss him if he wanted - and he did, he found. Felix’s eyes kept dropping to Locus’s mouth before he snapped them back to his eyes.

“What is with you today?” Felix hissed. The doors were still open and he felt the need to be quiet. To keep things private, for once, instead of throwing caution to the wind. “Christ - when the fuck was the last time you were this handsy?”

Locus didn’t answer right away, but he didn’t need to because Felix knew the answer. It had been at least a year, maybe two - but they had been separated for over a year then, both on really long, involved jobs, one after the other. He had assumed then that Locus was just starved for contact, but that didn’t sit right with this.

It had only been three weeks. Three stupid short weeks. And yet, Locus’s hands were still moving over him. He pulled the one from Felix’s thigh only to snap open the collar of his jacket with one quick movement, sliding his hand over the exposed skin to grip the back of Felix’s neck. His fingers were cold, but his palm was warm. His other arm ran up Felix’s back now, gripping tightly, as if he wanted to press the two of them together.

“Are you really going to tell me that you don’t like the attention?” Locus  asked. He wasn’t smiling - not exactly - but it was close. His eyes searched Felix’s face. “I don’t know if I’d believe that.”

Felix didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Of course he liked it. He loved it when Locus ran his hands over his body because it was like he was being worshipped. Like he was something Locus couldn’t get enough of, and that alone was a thrill. But this, somehow, was different. For one, his heart was pounding and he couldn’t figure out why; there was a pressure in his chest that he usually associated with wanting to be fucked so badly he couldn’t stand it. Didn’t make sense to feel this way, like electricity was buzzing through him, like fire was burning through his veins.

He thought of that goddamned embrace back in the med wing, how he had melted into it and clung to Locus. How he had been held after sex, how Locus had pressed them together so tightly during the act. He had squeezed Locus’s hand then, desperate for something to hold onto, like just being fucked wasn’t good enough. It had been great then but it was like alarms ringing in his skull now.

Locus and his slow, gentle kisses and how Felix had encouraged them, had let this happen.

There was concern in Locus’s eyes now as he stared at Felix because Felix hadn’t answered. He watched Locus, saw the sparks of concern in his eyes, felt the hand at his neck squeeze reassuringly. Locus said, “Felix? What is it?”

In answer, Felix practically whimpered. Ugh. Embarrassing. “Fuck - ! Shit, no - just - stop!” He moved fast, shoving at Locus’s shoulders and dislodging the hands off his body.  His hands clenched at Locus’s shoulders but he stared at the wall beside them, at the gleam of light on the tail end of his bike. His heart was racing, pounding against his ribs, and he could feel it in his throat.

Nothing about Locus had changed, he knew that. Any of their kisses could slide between violent and gentle, usually depending on how much animosity was between them. The only thing that was different was that this job offered no privacy. Usually, Felix took off somewhere when things started feeling like this, when he started to get too caught up in being around Locus. He thought that, when he had finally gotten away from Locus - all that time with Wash, that should have been like a sabbatical. And all he had done was spend the whole time pining over something he couldn’t have and -

“Oh my god,” Felix said quietly. He squeezed at Locus’s shoulders, looking back at him. The concern hadn’t left his eyes yet and Felix wanted to kiss him for it. And he hated that. He shouldn’t want to kiss Locus for anything other than his own enjoyment. “I actually fucking _missed_ you.”

Locus laughed and only made an effort not to when Felix glared. “Sorry.”

“Fuck off.”

“You said that like it was a scandal,” Locus said. He was smiling now, just barely, and Felix hated that too because he loved it.

No. Not loved.

Just…

“I can’t believe I let this happen,” he said. He dropped his hands from Locus and let the other man slide back to him, reaching for his face.

“I don’t know if you really have a say in things like that,” Locus told him. His fingers traced over Felix’s cheeks while he spoke, running under his jaw and lifting his head. “Unfortunately. You’ll just learn to live with it.”

Felix shook his head - or tried to, because Locus leaned in to kiss him again, scraping teeth over his bottom lip. “Don’t want to,” he said. “Gonna go back to hating you instead.”

Goddammit, he could feel Locus smiling against his lips at that.

Felix climbed out of the van after that, pausing only to snatch another gun from the wall of the van. His mind was still whirring, still lost over the fact that he had gotten so used to Locus that it was actually possible to miss the fucker. When he found Wash lingering by the door to the armory, the first thing that was said to him was: “Felix, what the hell…?”

He cocked his head. “...Sorry, what?”

And then Texas and Church had looked over at him. “Nice look, jackass,” Church said, grinning.

Texas said, “ _Bruises_ _,_ Felix! For fucks sake…”

Felix blinked, laid a hand at his throat, and whistled lowly. Right. The Jacket. Locus and his ridiculous habit of sucking and biting at his skin, leaving such obvious marks, and he had just shown them off. He handed Wash his rifle to free his hands, reaching up and closing the jacket over the marks. “Let’s just… forget anyone saw those,” he said, offering a grin. It didn’t look all that right, and he held out hope that all three of them would think he was just offset by the bruises.

Of course, not two minutes outside the outpost’s walls and Wash told him that healthy relationships usually didn’t involve such nasty looking bruises.

Felix said, “First  of all - not a relationship. He’s my partner.”

“That’s… not a relationship to you?” Wash mused.

Felix ignored him because there was a quiet storm still raging in his mind. Didn’t even want to put thought to that bullshit. “Second, they look a lot worse than they are. Trust me.”

Wash mumbled something about ‘unhealthy’ again and Felix kicked snow in his direction.

After a few seconds, he said, “Also. I meant _business_ partner.”

“And you still felt the need to clarify. How about that.”

“I know what you were thinking. Don’t get all snarky with me.”

“I’m sorry, Felix.” He didn’t sound like it, didn’t sound anything but highly amused. “Just never heard of a lot of business partners that leave marks like those behind.”

When Wash hunched down to take aim at an elk, Felix shoved him into the snow. He dug his elbows into Wash’s back, lying half on top of him to shoot the animal. Wash stopped joking after that, but whether it was about being shoved in the snow or the fact that Felix not-so-subtly swiped his hand over Wash’s thigh, who knew. It was a mystery.

It was past dinner before Felix actually spent more time alone with Locus again. He had been with his bike for hours, cleaning it, working on it. Ever since he dragged that damned elk back, he hadn’t left the garage - until dinner, anyway. Actually managed to skip lunch, but Lopez was in the garage the whole time too. Neither of them ate, and Felix had earned a Spanish assistant whose voice was laced with sarcasm. He had the feeling that Lopez liked his bike, but then again he was pretty certain Lopez liked all vehicles.

At dinner, Felix sat with the entire blue side of the outpost, which meant putting up with Caboose managing to derail an entire conversation with one sentence. Tucker was there and looked none too thrilled to be eating with him. Naturally, Felix made as many comments as possible about being seen naked until Tucker flicked a spoonful of spongy green vegetables at him.

Wash had stopped him from dumping Tucker’s tray into his lap. And then Wash had stopped Caboose from handing his own greens over to Felix because, as he put it, “We really do not need to start a food fight.”

There wasn’t a need anyway, because in the end, Felix had taken a handful of the stuff off his own tray and then leaned across the table to slam it into Tucker’s face. Wash had sighed beside him and Tex had left entirely then, but it was worth it. Especially when Caboose had ordered Freckles to “help” Tucker out.

Not much was better than watching a hundred pound dog tackle Tucker off the bench and lick his face. No one moved to stop it until Freckles started biting at Tucker’s shirt. “Your dog is fuckin’ crazy!” he had snarled at Caboose.

Caboose’s answer was just, “Freckles is a good dog.”

Freckles ended up with the rest of Felix’s food for being entertaining.

When he rose from the table, Church said, “Don’t feed that fuckin’ dog. It’s bad enough as it is, I don’t want it beggin’ for shit too.”

Caboose was already feeding the dog slices of meat from Tucker’s tray, so that order wasn’t going to last.

At the very least, dinner and hunting and cleaning up his bike had finally calmed him down. It all boiled down to telling himself he didn’t give a fuck about missing Locus until the idea took root in his mind. Missing Locus meant nothing. Missing Locus just meant he missed the mindblowing sex and orgasms like no one else could give him. He could handle that. Handle it so well that he was going to go hunt down Locus and see if he couldn’t get himself a blowjob or something.

As it happened, Felix left the moment one of those kids was reaching for the door. The girl, little thing named Jensen. He stared at her, at the way her eyes widened and noted how she looked instantly at the orange on his jacket. “Hello, darlin’,” he said lowly. “Look a little … frightened. Something wrong?”

The look vanished instantly, replaced with a stubborn glare. “Your… partner is in the medbay,” she said. “I was looking for you.“

“Were you? That’s new. Usually you and your pals just stare at me.” He smiled, nice and pleasant. As if he was the nicest guy in the world. “Care to tell me what exactly I’ve done to your little troop?”

She didn’t answer even though her face flared with something close to anger, closer to hatred. Huh. How about that. “He’s in the medbay,” she repeated. “Can you get him away from our friend?”

“What, Palomo?”

“Yes.”

The syringe was still in his pocket, resting and waiting, and he could almost feel it burning at the mention of that kid’s name. “The one who stole my bike…?”

Her glare faltered. “Uhm - “

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He reached forward to take her by the shoulders; she tensed instantly and he grinned. “Look, I hold nothing against the kid. He saw a nice bike, he wanted to take it. Who can blame him? But, see… He stole from me. And while I might not mind - ‘cause I did get it back - my friend. My _partner,_ ” -he put a lot of emphasis on partner, hoping that she’d take that a lot farther than just a business partner- “is a bit more... touchy. Kind of violent. A little protective, if you want to go that route.”

She was frowning now. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you might want to send Locus to me rather than the other way around,” he said. He squeezed her shoulders before dropping his hands and leaning away from her. “I might just stir him up, make him do something you won’t want to see. Put your friend in danger. And we’d hate for that happen.”

He left her standing there, grinning at how goddamn fun it was to fuck with these people, and left to go lounge in his room until the hours ticked by.

* * * 

The past few days had passed in a haze. At first it was because there was so much pain that he couldn’t focus on anything else. Lately, there were so many drugs in his system to dull the pain that it also dulled everything else and Palomo spent a lot of time sleeping. Sleeping or staring at the ceiling above him. He had visitors, but he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to them or what they were saying. He remembered the medic though, telling him that it would take a while to treat him. The medic who called himself Doc, who said, “Your friends are worried. I am sorry we can’t do anything else for you, but unless some more medicine drops out of the sky, I don’t know... “

He might have said more, but Palomo had been distracted by watching people outside the room he was in.

Once, some old guy had hovered over Palomo and told him that this would be a great story to tell his kids someday. And then he had started to ramble about how Palomo could join the red side after he was better, and that he better not be another pansy pretty boy, and just on and on and on. Palomo had lost focus and just listened to the noise of the old guy talking and Doc pleading with him to leave.

Jensen, Smith, and Bitters were there a lot. Jensen would sit by his bed and tell him about the people they had met. Smith would add to her stories. He said, “It’s a pretty good place. They seem like nice people.”

Jensen nodded and added, “They might let us stay. I’m working on it.”

“We’re going to be kicked out as soon as you’re better,” was the only thing Bitters had to say about it. He spent a lot of his time there bringing Palomo water and snacks, pulling food out of the pockets of his jacket. Smith said he wasn’t supposed to be doing that, and Bitters had said, “Look, he can keep it down now, so shut up.”

“ S’good,” Palomo said. He really didn’t see the issue with Bitters bringing in food. “Doc’s rules don’t make sense.”

“Told you,” Bitters said.

Jensen scoffed. “Palomo falls asleep when Doc tries to recite the rules.”

Bitters shrugged. “Well, that just means he’s boring.”

Apparently, the rule about food was to make sure Palomo readjusted to eating at a normal rate or something. Maybe it was so he didn’t puke up everything. One of those... or both of them. He really couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to the whole thing. Plus, Bitters tended to sneak in oranges and who could ever have problems with oranges?

Then, today, there was this big dude - like, really huge dude - and all of his friends seemed really uncomfortable about the guy being there. Palomo could pick up on that even with through his muddled brain. Bitters was clutching at his hand like something was wrong and Palomo ignored him. This guy was tall, towering over where he lay, staring at him. “Woah,” he said quietly. “You’re a big dude.”

The guy didn’t answer, just raised his eyebrows slightly.

Palomo said, “How tall are you? I’m betting easily over six feet.”

Bitters told him to shut up, said to the guy, “Hey, can you leave? Not even sure if you should be here.”

“And you should be at dinner,” he answered.

Seriously, guy wasn’t an issue. All he did was stand there and ask Palomo how bad his injury was, how long it would take to heal - the usual boring questions that people usually asked Doc and that Palomo could only make rough estimates about. He could hardly feel the pain, so he had no idea how bad it might really be. Pretty bad? Probably. “Looks pretty gross when Doc changes the gauze,” he said, squinting at the ceiling and thinking. “Like, really gross. Not as much blood as before, but still… Pretty disgusting.”

Still - Bitters was holding onto his hand and his arm really tightly, staring at this guy like he was pissed off and frightened at the same time. Palomo glanced from him to Smith, saw the same expression on Smith’s face too, and then frowned.

The guy only left when Jensen slipped back into the room - good Lord, he hadn’t even noticed she had left - and told him that someone named Felix was waiting for him. He thought something about that name was familiar, but whatever. The three of them started arguing and Palomo just laid there, staring at the ceiling and debating on how rude it would be of him to go to sleep before they left.

Of course he fell asleep anyway, with the sound of their mingling voices in the background.

He woke up when something jostled his side, when the bed sank in slightly. The room was dark when he opened his eyes, and it took a bit for him to make out that someone was leaning over his bed. That they had a knee shoved into it, and that he really had no idea who this was.

This guy, this stranger, he grinned and something about it was twisted. “Hey, kid,” he said lowly. “My name’s Felix. You took my bike.”

Palomo blinked. The medicine was wearing off and his mind was sharper now. This was the guy he stole from all those weeks ago. He had been hoping to never run into this guy. Like, ever. “....Oh. Uhm… Hello?”

All Felix said was, “Get the lights, will you? I want to be able to see what I’m doing, thanks?”

The lights flicked on and Palomo squinted at the sudden brightness. The gunshot wound was burning, pain flaring, and he wondered just how long ago he had been given medicine. But then Felix was gripping him by the hair and yanking his head up painfully. There was something in Felix’s hand, small, glinting. He said, “Where do I put this?”

The answer came from somewhere else in the room, near the door maybe. “Anywhere. Just find a vein. It has to be in the bloodstream to work properly.”

Felix nodded, leaning forward. He pressed his fingers against Palomo’s neck, and whatever was in his hands pressed against Palomo’s skin. It was cold - but then it was gone, and a second later, something pierced his neck. When Felix let him go, that twisted grin was wider. Palomo slapped a hand over his neck, wincing, and thought that this guy looked seriously unstable.

Felix said, “Wanna hear a story, kid?”

He shook his head.

“It’s about zombies. And how a human turns.”

“No! No, I know! I know the whole thing. Please leave…”

Anything he said was ignored, and Felix was already talking. He pulled himself up onto Palomo’s bed, moving his hands as he spoke, grinning the whole time. “See, we humans, we’re stupid and weak. The best possible host for this virus. Something about our average weight and what makes up our bodies - I don’t know the science behind it, so I’m very sorry you get to miss out on that part of the story. But, the point is - we’re the best incubators for this thing.

“It’s inside of us, all of us. Even though we say it spreads from bites and scratches, that’s not… entirely true. If it was, then zombie blood would hardly be such a threat.” He talked as if this was the best thing ever - like, there was this lift to his voice that was so gleeful that it was pretty terrifying. Palomo wanted to get the hell away from this guy, but then he was wounded and he couldn’t get out of this bed.

And, for whatever reasons, he was drawn to listening to this. Maybe it had to do with Felix’s voice. Maybe when he talked, he could make people listen.

Felix said: “The best thing is that this virus? It doesn’t take a lot to make it amplify completely. It lies dormant, but one thing goes wrong and all of it’s awake and stampeding through your brain, and you don’t stand a chance.” He raised his hand, holding it steady, and Palomo stared at it. He was holding a syringe; Palomo rubbed his neck absently, suddenly very afraid of whatever had pierced him earlier.

“Do you know how it progresses?” Felix asked. “The symptoms? How fast it can take hold?”

Palomo nodded. His mouth was dry. “If you’re gonna be here… Can I have some water?”

Felix stared at him, and then laughed. “No. It wouldn’t help you anyway.” He slid the syringe into a pocket on his jacket as his laughter died. “Now, shut up. I’m talking here.”

By the door, someone else entered and Palomo’s eyes snapped to him. That guy from earlier, the really tall one, watching him with cold eyes. “Hurry up,” he told Felix. “I’m not sure how long we’ll have before that medic comes back.”

“Wait - you were here,” Palomo said. He pushed himself up on his elbows, and the wound in his stomach protested. “Why were you here earlier? Who… who are you?’

“That’s my partner,” Felix said. “He’s the guy who shot you.”

Palomo was sure his blood had turned cold then.

“And he was here earlier because he’s got so little confidence in me that he had to make sure everything would go fine,” Felix continued. He threw the guy a glare - or what was supposed to be a glare, but there was something softer there, closer to adoration, and Palomo felt like someone had stomped on his chest.

Both of them were crazy. The big one had shot him, and then this other one... Felix… He stole a bike from the guy, got shot for it. And, holy shit, the way they looked at each other was disturbing. People shouldn’t be so calm when talking about zombies, he thought. And definitely not when they mentioned shooting people. Like it was nothing. “This is fucked up,” he whined. Didn’t mean to, but when he spoke, Felix’s grin lit up again.

“Aw, no, it’s fine!” he said. “We’re gonna do a crash course of the viral amplification symptoms, okay? Because I’m sure by now, it’s a little harder to breathe isn’t it?”

Palomo stared at him. Drew in a shaky breath.

Felix nodded. “Yeah. See, it starts with a dry mouth. Virus starts to eliminate the need for excess fluids, so your mouth dries out and then your eyes follow suit. Somewhere down the line, you stop sweating too and all your blood thickens. But that’s later. For now - just the mouth, so dry it’s parched, and nothing will help it go away.

“Then it gets harder to breathe. I’ve been told it’s because the virus is rewiring your living brain to slow all major processes down. Brings everything down to a pace where you can live in a sort of suspended animation. So you can live through anything - survive high temperatures, survive being frozen, broken bones, gaping wounds.”

His partner laid one hand on Felix’s shoulder and told him again to hurry up.

Felix ignored him, rattling off symptoms quickly. “Your breathing slows, and so does your heart. Something in the brain snaps, it gets tricked and a fever grows, burning to the point that you want to die because you can’t fucking stand it.”

“It’s trying to fight the virus,” the partner said. “It’s not a trick, Felix. You know that.”

Felix reached up to pull the hand off his shoulder, lacing their fingers together. “Dramatic purposes, babe. Don’t ruin it.”

Palomo stared at them both, eyes wide, trying desperately to pull in breaths. Whatever was going on, it was nothing short of being terrifying. So much so that he couldn’t even speak.

Jesus Christ - what he would do for a drink of water, though.

Felix turned back to him, that blazing grin fading into a smile. He looked calm and composed, almost friendly. “After the fever starts, you start losing feeling in your limbs. Starts with the fingers and the toes, spreads up the legs and the arms. Virus is cutting off the need for most of your nerves. You can still feel when you grab someone, when you’ve got your dead hands on someone’s living flesh - but that’s all you need and the rest is gone.

“You start to lose your memories. Bit by bit, piece by piece. There’s no need for a zombie to remember who its family was, right?”

He leaned close and laid a hand on Palomo’s forehead. “Huh. Fever’s starting,” he said quietly.

Palomo whined, shoving him off. It felt sluggish, like he wasn’t moving fast enough - he still needed water, needed to breathe. Something wasn’t right.

“There’s other things, of course,” Felix said. He slid off of Palomo’s bed, sidling up next to his partner. “But none of that matters because you’re not yourself then. The last thing you’ll experience is looking at someone you know and having no idea who the fuck they are. You might know that you know them - but it doesn’t matter. The virus has you and you’re done, and all those familiar faces mean nothing to you.”

He left the room with a grin on his face again, saying “Good night, Palomo.” It was mocking, said while he was letting himself be pulled out by his partner. One of them got the lights and the door shut on Palomo lying in the dark. He clutched at the sheets over him and tried to swallow again. Tried to fight off the heat that was growing across his face, across his chest- everywhere. Like the thin blankets were suddenly stifling hot. He still couldn’t breathe correctly.

He knew what it meant. Why Felix had sat there and recited all that information.

For some reason, he kept going to back to how Felix had introduced himself. How he had said, ‘You took my bike’ so casually. It was this nagging, creeping thought that whatever was in that syringe was killing him, and that Felix had done it because Palomo had stolen his bike.

In the dark, he whimpered to himself, blinking and feeling like his eyes were too dry.


	14. some do magic

There was this idea that had rooted in his mind that if he wasn’t with Palomo, that would be when the idiot finally died. It was a stupid idea, and he felt stupid for humoring it, but it was easier just to sit in that room and accept it than fight against it. It wasn’t like they had anything else to do anyway; it only took him a day to understand that most of what went on at this place was loud yelling and stupid arguments. The medbay was quiet.

It was not that exciting because Palomo slept a lot, but it was a good excuse for getting away from everyone. Jensen and Smith wouldn’t let him spend all of his time there - apparently that was pathetic and sad and depressing - but he had been there when the outpost was attacked by zombies. He was usually there after meals, sneaking food in for the guy, rambling pointlessly about how boring this place was - but making the point that being on the road was also terribly boring. Apparently everything was boring, and Bitters usually trailed off and kicked lazily at the bed that Palomo lay on.

As usual, Palomo never seemed to mind a damned thing.

The only time Bitters didn’t visit Palomo was before breakfast, namely because he didn’t even wake up on time. Today, he woke up later than usual and by the time  he made it into the cafeteria, everyone was gathered, and most of them were nearly finished eating. The usual noise rung throughout, shouts and laughter and that dog’s low barking. Grif and Sarge were arguing, as usual. Bitters could easily pick their voices out above everyone else’s.

Bitters sat down across from Jensen and Smith, frowning at the empty table in front of him. There was usually food there, waiting for him. He was tired, it was noisy, and the two of them acted like he had just interrupted a private moment. “...What.”

It wasn’t a question and he wasn’t going to make it one.

Jensen glanced at Smith, a hesitating, nervous look. When she looked back at Bitters, it was Smith who answered. “Jensen thinks,” he stopped when she tossed him a glare and backtracked. “I mean - _we_ think that we might need to talk to someone about this Felix guy.”

Bitters looked between them, at the table, and then back at them. “That was important enough to stop someone from getting me some food?”

“You can get your own food,” Jensen said. “This is important, whether you think so or not.”

“...Why? He’s just an asshole.” One that Palomo stole from, but whatever. As far as he was concerned, if they just stayed away from Felix then there wouldn’t be any problems. Personally, Bitters was more wary of the guy Felix hung around with, his ‘partner’.

Jensen stared at him like he had lost part of his head or gained extra limbs. Disbelieving and scathing at the same time. “Are you serious?” she growled. With her voice, it wasn’t that threatening. “Just look at him!”

Bitters looked, mostly so he could turn right back to her and act like he had accomplished something. Oh, look. Found the guy. Looked at him. What an eye opener. What he saw was Felix, an arm draped over his partner, leaning close to him. At the same time, he was brandishing a fork at Tucker and grinning widely. His jacket was open, orange standing out against the black. Nothing special. “What am I supposed to be seeing…?” Bitters asked. “I mean, he’s got some pretty nasty marks that probably came from something I don’t want to think about, but - “

Jensen leaned over the table and snagged his wrists. It was such a sudden move that his attention snapped back to her and he recoiled just slightly. “Come on, Bitters! Don’t you remember why we all ended up together in the first place?’

“Yes…?” Not like he could exactly forget it. Crazy asshole staying at their makeshift camp and shooting everyone in the dead of night wasn’t exactly something he forgot. He frowned at Jensen, annoyed because she hadn’t let him go - and because she had dredged up that memory: a woman screaming before a knife was slammed into her skull, gunfire and panicked screams that were overpowered by some psycho’s taunts. The fact that Bitters had snatched Palomo before escaping.

Bitters looked from Jensen to Smith, back to her, then back to Felix. He watched as Felix slammed the knife into the center of the table, inches away from Tucker’s hand. The guy was still grinning, but he looked pissed off now, tinged with so much anger it was visible from where Bitters sat. He frowned, considered the flashes of color along Felix’s jacket, and instantly drew the connection to that night almost two months ago. “No… You’re not - ?”

“I am.”

“She’s very convinced of it,” Smith added. He was eating with his eyes trained on the table, face set in resignment. Clearly, he had heard this several times over. “Hasn’t picked out a motive for him, though.”

“I don’t need to,” she said. She finally let go of Bitters, probably pleased with herself that she had found out something so grand and then made her only friends see it too. “The man is unstable and we need to get him out of here. I tried to talk to Simmons, but...“ She frowned, didn’t say anything else.

“I don’t think he’s good with girls,” Bitters said absently. “Look, Jensen… How are you so sure about this?”

“It’s the jacket.” She stopped to turn around and look at Felix, frowning deepening. “I remembered it once I saw him wearing it again - that stupid orange.”

Smith added, “The way he talks, too,” and it sounded like he was reciting it from memory. Probably was. “It sounds like he wants you to believe every word he’s saying. It’s like he can make you trust him or hate him, depending on his wishes alone.”

Jensen was nodding.

Bitters rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he believed this; a lot of time had passed. And all this shit about his voice? Jensen’s theories were weird. “Okay, so say the guy is the one that attacked us - “

“He is.”

“So what? What do you expect these guys to do about it?”

And now she actually looked scandalized. Jesus Christ, she was adamant about this. “I know you weren’t up there when those zombies attacked,” she said. “But that woman over there? She was. And she’s good - she’s better than good - she’s -”

“She’s the best we’ve ever seen,” Smith suggested. “If anyone can stop Felix from doing that type of thing again, it might be her.”

He glanced over at the woman in question - blonde, and sitting by Church and Tucker. She was reaching over the table and forcing Felix’s jacket closed. Felix was glaring, his partner was watching them both, and Tucker was laughing again.

“Then tell her,” he said flatly, turning back to them. They exchanged another look and Jensen’s eyes fell to the table. “...What?”

“She’s kind of… really intimidating,” Jensen muttered.

Bitters stared at her. This was absurd. This was stupid. This whole thing, all rooted around the belief that their camp had been attacked by that asshole, and she wouldn’t even tell someone. He didn’t even have the words to express how utterly ridiculous that was. The three of them fell into silence, punctuated only by the sounds of their eating. At the table next to them, Simmons was trying to stop Grif from throwing a glass of juice in Sarge’s face. Donut had joined in by now, and his voice was added into the overall noise as he tried to physically restrain Grif. He watched that happen for a few seconds instead of dealing with anything else from Jensen.

But it only took thirty seconds of that bullshit for him to be tired of it. The silence, the fact that neither of his “friends” had bothered to get him anything to eat, Jensen’s crackpot theory - done with all of it. He slammed his hands on the table, pushing up to his feet, and drawing both their gazes.

“What are you doing?” Jensen asked.

“Goin’ to Palomo.” He didn’t wait for their reactions, heading for the cafeteria exit. He passed the table Felix had been at, though the guy seemed to have vanished by now. His partner was still there, not talking, not looking too interested in anything going on. The woman that Jensen had mentioned glanced at him as he passed, before turning back to Church.

Bitters pushed through the cafeteria door just in time to see the one to the medical wing swing shut. He stared at it for just a second, and then Jensen was pushing at his back. She said that he should move faster if he wanted to visit Palomo, to stop hanging out in doorways like a weirdo.

There was no one in the med wing. No one seemed to be hiding out in any of the open doors they passed, no one in the hall or the waiting area, and no one but Palomo in that room. Bitters paused at the door, hand on the doorknob, staring intently at Palomo on the other side. He was staring at the ceiling, like he usually did. But there was something… off about the way he was lying, how his hands clenched at the blankets over him. He relayed that thought to Jensen and Smith, and Jensen instantly pressed up against the door beside him. She peered through the window, and said, “Hmm… I can’t tell from here. Are you _sure_ he looks worse?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He was a little bit insulted that she even needed to ask him, but… “You really think I wouldn’t be sure?”

“Do you think he’s gotten worse?” Smith asked. “He was doing better, wasn’t he?” He was looking over Jensen’s shoulder, eyes narrowed.

Bitters pushed the door open. There was no point in standing here, debating Palomo’s condition, if none of them actually knew what his condition was. As soon as he opened the door, Palomo’s head turned to him and he froze. Something was definitely wrong with him, with the sluggish way he moved and the slackness in his jaw. The emptiness in his eyes that didn’t go away even as they widened.

It was obvious to all of them, but none of them stirred until Palomo’s mouth opened and the moan drifted out. Behind Bitters, Smith was already moving away - he could hear it, just like he heard Jensen gasp and mutter “Oh, God,” under her breath - but he didn’t move. He stood there, watching, as Palomo shifted off the bed and landed on shaking legs.

Palomo, who shouldn’t even be able to move. With the bandages wrapped around his torso stained red again. Palomo, who took a second to find his footing - and then launched himself forward. His arms reached for Bitters’s shoulders and only then did Bitters think he should move. Only when he stared into those blank, hungry eyes.

Bitters took only one step backward before Palomo - this gnashing thing that used to be Palomo - dropped onto him and he fell. Instinct took over and he threw an arm up to catch Palomo - no, goddammit, it wasn’t him anymore. That arm lodged in its throat, right under the stretched jaw muscles, and he could feel pressure every time the jaw snapped. His other arm was clamped down on one of Palomo’s shoulders, pushing back, trying to keep its mouth away from his flesh.

He knew he should move his legs too, kick this thing off of him, but he had a really close view of Palomo’s eyes. Yellowed, dimmed of the light that was supposed to be there. Empty, dead, and still violent and hungry. The zombie that used to be his idiot friend was clawing at his chest, nails digging in, threatening to rip the fabric. The skin under his hands was cold and clammy, still slick from sweat - a fever, Bitters assumed. The fever that would have gripped him as he died.

He thought of Palomo dying alone in this shitty medical room and cursed under his breath.

There were footsteps behind him, moving fast, and he had a second to think that it was Smith - it couldn’t be Jensen, too heavy for Jensen - and then a hand shot out and yanked on Palomo’s hair. Hard enough that the thing was pulled straight off of him. Pulled off, and then thrown violently back to the foot of the bed. He watched as Palomo hit the ground with a thud before he even looked to who had wrenched the guy off him.

It was Felix. Of course it was Felix. He had removed his jacket at some point, and tattoos stood out on his arms. He slammed a foot on top of Palomo’s chest, so hard that it was like watching Palomo’s rib cage being shattered. For a moment, that was what Bitters saw - some asshole, stomping on his friend, breaking his ribs - and by the time he dispelled that image, Felix was twirling a knife between his fingers. The image of that night long ago, of that woman getting stabbed in the head, flashed as he watched Felix bend down to shove the blade through Palomo’s forehead.

He didn’t move from where he laid on the floor, staring as Palomo’s body shook before it stilled. It didn’t feel real, it didn’t make sense, because Smith had been right. Palomo was getting better. He was healing, he was eating again, and all four of them were going to leave this place.

Felix yanked his knife out with a grunt. For just a second, there was a twisted smile on his face but it vanished as he said, “Ah, well… Looks like your little friend didn’t make it.” His voice was dripping with such sincerity that it was mocking. He wiped the knife on Palomo’s pants then glanced up over at Bitters, at Jensen and Smith past the doorway. When he spoke again, amusement laced his words. “What a pity.”

Bitters pulled himself up, sitting with his arms braced against the floor behind him. It sounded like Jensen might be crying behind him, and it wouldn’t surprise him if she was; if he wasn’t still stuck in this unwavering disbelief, he might have cried himself. Maybe. He stared at Palomo’s dead body with wide eyes, not really noticing as Felix straightened up and slid the knife back onto his belt. His head had fallen to the side slightly, eyes gazing at the ceiling. Blood dripped down his face from the wound above his eyes, moving slowly, thicker than it should have been.

He didn’t feel like crying - he felt like vomiting, really. Like the world was going to tilt underneath him or he was going to sink through the floor or - or something. Nothing felt right. Felix passed by him, saying, “You should take care of the body,” and every word he spoke was like another stab to a gaping wound.

Palomo was dead.

Palomo had turned, and none of them had been there to stop it from happening. None of them had been there to make sure his last moments weren’t as a fucking zombie.

Suddenly, it was like Bitters couldn’t breathe - air constricted whenever he inhaled, but not enough in his lungs to exhale. His shoulders shook and he wanted to scream but all that came out was, “....Fuck.” Someone’s hands landed on his shoulders and he shrugged them off instantly. Still couldn’t take his eyes off Palomo, couldn’t focus on anything else. He doubled over, squeezing his eyes shut and seeing him even then. There was a scream rising in his throat - no, a curse - something that gripped his heart and squeezed.

He still couldn’t fucking breathe right. Jensen said his name, close to him, and one of her hands fell lightly on his back. He ignored her, just like he was ignoring the fact that the pressure on his chest was heavily influenced by the tears that were building behind his eyes.

He ignored it, and both Jensen and Smith, and everything else. He didn’t say much, and when he did, it was punctuated by anger. Jensen enlisted the assistance of that blond woman to help get Palomo outside, the one she had said was ‘the best’, and Bitters watched her lift Palomo like he didn’t weigh a thing.

They burned the body in one of the pits, an empty one that stood near to the others piled with smoking corpses and charred bones. They had covered Palomo with a fresh sheet from medical, white against the dark floor of the pit. He had been coated with gasoline so the flames would catch quickly.

Bitters threw the match because it didn’t seem right to let anyone else do so. Palomo was his friend, no matter how goddamned annoying he could be. He stood there and watched the fire and wondered just what the fuck the point was anyway. Burning bodies was a practice meant to stop them from turning. Useless and stupid, and now he’d be smelling burning flesh for days.

It wasn’t until he was back in his room with the door locked that he stopped forcing everything back, stopped acting normal through that thin veil of anger. That sinking feeling returned, pulling uneven breaths out of him. He didn’t even make it to his bed, just sank to the floor by the door and broke down.

* * *

It had only been three days since she had arrived, and Texas was already getting annoyed with these guys. Lots of work was thrown her way, simply because of who she was and someone had started up that ‘Tex is the best’ bullshit again. If she ever found out who said it first, she was going to punch their head through a wall. Her days should not include burning a kid who died overnight. Shouldn’t have included seeing if she could start up the tank in the back of the garage at the request of Caboose. And, when that failed, she shouldn’t have had to listen to annoyed Spanish backtalk for three hours while she dismantled its engine.

Dismantling the engine was hard enough. Using bits of pieces of that, and of the tank itself, and of every little thing she could find just to build fucking bombs was something else she shouldn’t have had to do. But, no, she had promised Locus that she would get him whatever he wanted, and he had said they plenty of guns. He had gone through the whole fucking armory, found the box of broken bombs, and had requested those instead.

Bombs.

Fucking bombs.

She tried not to think about why the fuck those two would need bombs while she worked. Easier that way. Don’t think about it, just put the pieces together and have a set of unarmed bombs delivered to the assholes by the end of the week. Easy. It’d be a lot easier if Church wasn’t constantly hanging around, or if anyone at this fucking outpost could do something by themselves. She was interrupted multiple times just to carry out mundane tasks - _Can you pick this up, Texas? Carry it over there? Help me fix this, Lopez is busy. I can’t figure out how to open a door by myself, Texas, it’s such a complicated concept._

Just an endless stream of mindless bullshit - and the door thing, good God in heaven, the fucking door. Morning of the third day, and Texas was pulled away from getting ready to hook wires up in a bomb because Caboose and his dog were stuck behind a door. Apparently failing power wasn’t a new thing around here, because Church said, “Yeah, it’s been a while… but, yeah, this ...this, uh… this isn’t the first time we’ve had someone behind the door when the power fails. And it’s Caboose, so… can’t just ask him to open the door from his side. He’d probably knock the power out to the whole fucking place.”

They passed Lopez as they left the garage, and the bastard gave her one hell of a dirty look before going back to tinkering with the jeep. Still upset about the tank, and she didn’t even have to ask why he wasn’t helping open a door.

Church told her anyway. “Last time we asked Lopez to open something, he just stared at us until we left. He’s fuckin’ weird, like… what does he do? Stand up here and mess with vehicles? Fuckin’ useless, I swear.“

“Hey, Church? Did you ever stop to think that I don’t care about Lopez?”

He stopped right then, halfway down the steps, and turned back to her. “You have been nothin’ but a giant bitch since you got here,” he said. “What the hell is your problem?”

She leaned over the two steps between them to grab him by the collar of his jacket. “For one, _you_ weren’t where you were supposed to be.” They had talked about this, sure, plenty. Starting from the instant she had found him in the midst of that zombie attack and asked him just what the fuck he had been thinking. The argument had been put on hold while they cleaned up the yard, continued again in his room. It halted then because Texas had slammed the noisy prick against the wall and kissed him with the kind of fervent urgency that could only come from not knowing where he was for the past year. It was completely derailed after that because Tex had made the bad choice to sleep with Church that night.

But all of that was said and done, and now she snapped, “I had no idea where the fuck you were. Do you expect me to be in a good mood when it took over a fucking year to find your ass?”

Church glared at her, meeting her own intense gaze with the exact same amount of frustration. “I told you, goddammit - Someone attacked us. We had to leave.” There was clearly a lot more to that story, a hell of a lot more that she needed to know, but that was shoved aside as Church reached up and took her face in his hands, pulled her down into a kiss. It had none of the violence his gaze might have suggested. “At least you found me, right? Like, I’m not dead yet, so…”

Texas sighed and shoved him, made him start moving back down the stairs. “Yeah. Alright. I’ll give you that. You’ve managed to live. Doesn’t mean I’m going to forget the last year.”

“Holy shit, Tex,” he groaned, pushing the door open on the rec room. “Are you gonna be like this for long? ‘Cause it’s really fucking irritating.”

She evaded answering. “Just take me to Caboose, alright?”

He threw open the door to the red side of the outpost in response, leading her down the hall. Unlike the side that Church and his friends stayed on, this section of the outpost was made up of various short hallways. There were only three rooms on this first hall, all closed. Then there was a turn to the right that led to a hall lined with doors - four stood open, Grif leaning against one doorway. He pointed down the hall without pausing in devouring something that looked horribly greasy. At the end of this hall, the corridor forked in both directions. The right side went upstairs, to another entrance.

To the left, there was a small crowd gathered around one of the doors. She could hear that damn dog barking loudly before they even turned the corner. in front of her, Church grumbled curses before stepping aside and letting her go first.

The door Caboose had been locked behind was near the end of the hall, and she had to stop beside one of the kids, the girl - Jensen, her name was. She was leaning out of her doorway, staring at the commotion with one hell of a worried expression on her face. Jensen’s door, as it so happened, was almost directly across from the one that the idiot was stuck behind.

Tex glanced at her, then back at the scene. “So what happened?”

Jensen’s answer was slow, hesitant. “Well... I’m not exactly sure. Simmons gave Caboose the code for the door, but I didn’t see him get locked in it. Just heard Felix talking, so… I don’t know. Wanted to see what he was doing.”

The door was locked, one of the ones with a keypad and a corresponding code. The entire panel had been ripped off of it, cast aside in order for Felix to enable himself to fiddle with the wires inside of it. Whatever the fuck he thought he was doing was beyond her. But he seemed to be enjoying himself, making ill-timed jokes to everyone’s annoyance. Like his usual self, then. Wash stood beside him, not helping, not doing anything but making sarcastic remarks back at all of his stupid jokes. Simmons and Donut stood on the other side of the door, apparently trying to talk to Caboose through it.

She watched as Wash said, “You’re going to electrocute yourself,” and Felix laughed. “Seriously. I mean, if you want to shock yourself, then by all means. Pull the wires, Felix.”

“Hush, sweetheart,” Felix answered. “You’re going to distract me.” He made quite a show sitting there with one hand twisted around a wire and the other - his wounded arm, she noted - holding wirecutters.

Tex leaned against Jensen’s doorframe, watching. Church asked her quietly if she was going to help and she shook her head. “Not yet. Let’s see what he does.”

It certainly wasn’t a disappointment. The first wire he cut was actually the right one, and so was the second. It was the third one that caused the lights to dim significantly before shooting back up. She even heard the machinery humming through the place quiet and then kick back into gear. Best of all, it sent such a great force of electricity through Felix that he couldn’t stop the loud yelp that shot out of him. Or how he jolted back from the wall, hands shaking. He looked dazed and confused.

Tex laughed.

“I’m going to tell Locus you’re killing yourself,” Wash said. He passed by her with a nod and disappeared around the corner.

Church sighed, shaking his head. There was a grin on his face too. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he said to Felix.

Felix raised the middle finger of one still shaking hand. “Fuck off, you dick.”

Texas shoved him aside, picking up the wirecutters he had dropped. From behind the door, she could hear Caboose’s loud voice asking if that was Church. And she knew without looking that Church had found something else he needed to do, something that would take him far away from Caboose. That left her with Donut, pressing up against the door and carrying on the weirdest conversation she had ever heard, Simmons, who had crept closer and was hovering around and peering over her shoulder, and Felix - stupid idiot that he was. He hadn’t moved, just sat there, rubbing absently at his hand.

“If you were there,” he said. “Then why did you let me get shocked? Could have taken over.”

“Aw, I thought you could handle it,” she said, working as she talked. “It isn’t my fault you hit the wrong wire.”

“You just wanted to watch me fail,” he answered. “Isn’t that right? High and mighty Texas, waltzes in like she’s a goddamn queen - “

“If I’m the queen, are you my subjects?” She yanked on the wires, moving them, replacing others. “If so, I’d like to replace all of you with competent ones.”

And, from the door, Donut added, “Ohh, what kind of queen are you? If I had to guess, I’d expect whips in our future, or chains - or both!”

Texas fixed the door as quickly as possible after that. She didn’t blame Felix for getting up and leaving, nor Simmons for his annoyed sigh, not even Jensen for withdrawing back into her room. Listening to Donut was bad enough; listening to him talk to Caboose through a heavy metal door was worse. Putting up with that and his ridiculous comments? - nope, not gonna happen. At least after the door screeched open and Caboose and his dog came into the hall, she could leave. She left Donut to watch Caboose, left Simmons to sort out the issue with the power failing on the door, and went back upstairs to throw herself back into repairing bombs. Because at least that didn’t involve all those goddamn idiots begging for favors.

It was quiet, at least until Church inevitably made his way back. He brought food, and she rooted out a bottle of whiskey from the inside of Locus’s van, and then promptly forgot about the bombs. She also forgot about the fact that Church was a pain in the ass, and that his explanation for why he went missing was full of holes. They sat and exchanged stupid stories about what they had been up to - she told him about how fucking annoying it was to deal with Felix, and he told her how annoying it was to deal with Tucker and Caboose. It wasn’t the worst way to end the day, and by the time she had packed away all of her tools and the in-progress bombs, the annoyances of the past few days seemed trival.

Church walked with her down to the hall, stopping at the doorway to the room she had taken. It was next to Wash’s, right across from Church’s. He threw a glance at his room before saying, “Y’know… I, uh… You don’t have to stay in here. Alone.”

Tucker’s door was open and his voice drifted out. “Smooth, man. Way to charm the ladies.”

“Shut the fuck up, Tucker,” Church snapped.

And then Tucker was leaning out his door, grinning. “No, Church, seriously - you gotta charm her, man. Can’t just expect her to jump your dick right out the gate.”

“Keep talkin’,” Tex said. “and I will break your legs.” Things she hadn’t missed about these guys definitely included this asshole and his terrible pickup lines.

Of course, Tucker ignored her and he didn’t even get to finish his next sentence before Texas crossed the space between them. She threw him to the ground, aiming punches at his torso. And when he tried to flirt again - the single worst version of flirting she had ever heard - she switched to punching him in the face. He deserved it.  

Before her door shut on them, she heard Tucker groaning and Church asking him what the fuck he was thinking.

Tucker avoided her at breakfast the next morning. Well, except for telling her she was a horrible bitch. She considered slamming his head into the table for that, but didn’t. She picked him up with both her arms around his waist and lifted him over her head, slamming him into the empty table beside them. He laid there and groaned and cursed. Behind her, Felix said, “Ten out of ten, Tex. Good job.”

Huh. Hadn’t even seen him enter. Of course, when she turned around, he was leaning on Locus, no breakfast in front of him. She watched long enough to see him try to swipe an orange from Wash’s tray - and for Wash to catch his wrist and bend it backwards. She could hear the bones in his wrist pop before he yanked it away.

She left before anyone else, hoping to swerve back upstairs to avoid everyone. Not that she was actively seeking to be alone, but damn if Texas didn’t just want to throw herself into the work she had already started. That was how she always worked. Ignore everything else, finish a task, move on to the next one. And making bombs was already complicated enough without people popping up every few minutes asking for her help.

But when she left the cafeteria, she was immediately met with all three of those kids turning to face her. They had, quite clearly, been in the middle of a heated discussion, and Texas didn’t care for any of those looks. Jensen looked damned apprehensive, clinging on the arm of Smith. Though he lacked the touch of nervousness that Jensen seemed to be covered in, Smith stared at her with intensity. As if Texas knew something - or as if she could help them.

Texas sighed, crossed her arms over her chest, and fixed them with a stare.

It was the last one, Bitters, who spoke first. “I don’t want to do this,” he said flatly. Texas glanced at him and narrowed her eyes; clearly he was the one who had taken the death of their friend the hardest. Looked as if he hadn’t slept much at all, red-rimmed eyes, dark circles starting to form around them. He stood with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, looking at her with a glare that was full of more blunt sadness than anger. “This is stupid,” he continued. “It’s not going to change a fucking thing, and you’re not even going to say anything.”

He was speaking to Jensen, who looked away from Texas long enough to frown his way. “You’re not helping,” she said quietly.

Smith spoke directly to Texas. “Look, Miss - ?”

“No miss. Just Texas.”

He laid a hand over Jensen’s and nodded. “Right. Texas. Look, we don’t want to bother you, but….”

“It’s important,” Jensen said, looking back at her. “Like, it could save lives and I’m really sorry to bring this to you.”

Texas didn’t say anything.

Neither did Jensen, even when Smith whispered for her to continue. After a few silent seconds, Bitters spoke again. Loudly, scathing, like he thought this was the biggest waste of his time. “Jensen has crackpot theories. She’s managed to convince Smith - not that it took much effort - and now they’re both sitting on their asses instead of doing anything.” He ignored the reactions from both of them, ignored how Jensen’s face grew upset and the lines forming on Smith’s brow. “Jensen thinks that Felix is responsible for… for Palomo’s death.”

It was the only time he faltered.

“I don’t think,” Jensen added. “I _know_ _._ I just… it was him. I know it was.”

Texas cut in before they could say anything else. “Yeah, I don’t see why this should concern me.”

Jensen’s frown deepened, and Bitters spun on his heels instantly. “Told you,” he said. “Stupid, pointless… Can’t believe you guys dragged me out here for this shit.” He was already opening the door to the red side of the outpost when Jensen called out to him, told him to at least eat something. Before the door shut on him, Texas could see the way his shoulders dropped instantly. “Just leave me alone,” he muttered, door closing.

The two left were quiet again and Texas said to them, “You should probably be watchin’ your pal instead of bothering me.”

And then Jensen was talking, fast, telling some story that painted Felix as a villain that murdered an entire camp. A small one, but a camp nonetheless. Idiotic, noisy Felix, who sprang up in the night and opened fire on innocents. The door to the cafeteria opened on the tail end of Jensen’s story and Texas shuffled to the side to let Grif and Simmons pass. She cast a glance through the door before it shut, at Felix practically sitting in Locus’s lap and frowned.

She knew the two of them were up to something seriously fucked up, she had known for a while. Didn’t have any details because she didn’t want any details. She had had enough of getting engaged with whatever crazy bullshit someone spouted at her, with getting into more danger than she had ever asked for. She had told herself months ago, back when she had run into the pair a fourth time, that she was staying out of it. They helped her, she helped them - but they never asked the other what they were doing out here. She may have told them about Church but that only because the guy got bit so often, they’d find out on their own - and then she would have had to put up with Felix’s incessant whining about how they should have known.

The point was - whatever Felix and Locus were up to, it was none of her business. She didn’t want to know. But Jensen was here telling her that Felix might turn that arsenal in their van on the outpost at any second.

It wasn’t… the best thing to hear so early in the morning.

She thought of the Director and all the shady shit she had dealt with when she worked for him, of her old squadmates - most of whom still worked for him - and of Church. Fuckin’ Church and his unexplainable immunity to this virus. Church who could survive a zombie bite no matter what, but would be torn to shreds by Felix’s guns in a matter of seconds. The dullest rage sparked at the thought of it happening, and she sighed.

Jensen said, “I’m really sorry to bring this up to you, but I don’t know who else to talk to. You’re the best I’ve seen - even Simmons said so, he suggested I talk to you, so…”

“Simmons and I are gonna have a little chat about that,” Texas said quietly. Louder, she said, “Look - I can keep an eye on Felix. That’s all. I’m not going to pull a gun on the shithead unless I have a good reason to, and that reason is only going to be if he tries to shoot someone.” If that motherfucker pointed one gun at Church - even as a joke - Texas would snap his arm in half.

Jensen looked satisfied with that answer, and Texas left her and Smith with a reminder to take care of their friend before things got really bad with him. She was upstairs in a minute, biding her time with fiddling with one of the bombs, not doing much, not thinking of much. Other than the deal she had just made. Because that was a deal, whether or not she got anything out of t.

Watch Felix. It didn’t sound too hard, the idiot was around a lot - and when he wasn’t, he was alone with Locus and she was in no way going to even give that fact a second of thought. She was right though, of course she was. Wasn’t hard at all.

She was in the garage for only half an hour before Felix came wandering in - he claimed he was getting something out of the van, but he stood next to her and talked for nearly an hour. Asked what she was doing, why Locus had asked for bombs. Said that he hadn’t been serious when he had mentioned wanting to blow things up - “What the fuck am I gonna blow up?” he said, grinning. “Blow up anything, you get zombies on your heels in seconds - happened to me before, kind of sucked. A lot, but whatever.” He said that bombs were only good on the living and Tex stared at him so fiercely that he left, spitting excuses and bullshit as he went.

Texas found herself hooked on the fact that he had actually just said that bombs were for the living. “Fuckin’ asshole,” she mumbled, going back to work. She fit wires together and considered the idea that Felix could be more dangerous than she had thought.

It wasn’t a pleasant train of thought. Tex didn’t care for underestimating people, it made for errors later on, but she had already made a judgement on Felix. He was obnoxious, but he was strong and fast. Sure, she hadn’t been with him enough to get a real good idea on how he fought - but he had saved her life all those weeks ago. He had charged straight into a horde and not only survived it, he didn’t even seem to have any lasting negative effects from that stupid move. Didn’t really seem to have any problems from being separated from Locus for so long  either.

And that, she knew, must have been hard. Traveling with Locus for three weeks, with him alone, it had shown her that he depended on Felix. They had avoided most large groups of zombies, but when they had fought, she had had to step up and keep an eye on Locus - because he fought as if he expected Felix to be there. It was as if the two of them had been together for so long that for the other to be taken away…

Texas frowned at the bomb in her hands. It was finished, totally complete, wouldn’t take but a few buttons to arm the thing. She had, without thinking, transformed the old thing into a tripwire. She tapped her fingers along the top of it, over the gleaming pieces she had used from the tank to form the new casing.

Felix and Locus were partners, the entire fucking planet should know that by now. They worked as a team, and she wanted to know exactly what that looked like. Just how well the two were together. Because if Jensen was right, if Felix was capable of slaughtering people in the dead of night, then so was Locus. And depending on how good of a team they were, Texas wasn’t sure if she would be able to stop them alone.

Not if they got the jump on her, at least.

No, she thought, it’d be easiest to surprise them. Shoot out Felix’s kneecaps first, leave him bleeding while she dealt with Locus. She had seen him fight on his own, and knew she could handle him if it came to it.

After a minute, Texas set the bomb down carefully, reaching for the next one to adapt it into a tripwire just like the first. This was not what she wanted to be thinking about and it alarmed her - just a little bit - how quickly she had snapped back to analyzing those around her. How goddamn easy it was to start to become the soldier she had been crafted into.

It was way too easy.

She spent lunch like she usually did, chatting with Church, putting up with Tucker’s inane bullshit, and trying to pretend she wasn’t the slightest bit curious about what Caboose was talking about half the time. That night, Church told her, “I swear he lives in a little world of his own,” and that seemed pretty accurate. Of course, Church also said, “The guy’s a fuckin’ idiot, Tex, I don’t think he’s figured out yet how to kill a zombie - or that they’re zombies - or why he’s even here. It’s a miracle he’s even alive.”

“And he’s latched onto you,” she said with a smirk. “Aren’t you lucky?”

“Yeah, god fuckin’ bless. What a gift.” He rambled for a bit about how the heavens must have opened just to impart Caboose upon him and she stopped him before it got to be an hour long complaint session. Stopped him by kissing him, by sliding her hands down his chest, and by promptly kicking him out of her room.

It was two days later before she learned of CT’s death - hell, before she even knew that CT was still alive, had been traveling with Washington. Connecticut was just another faceless figure that Texas used to know, someone she hadn’t seen in over seven months. Last Texas had known, CT had been getting into contact with shady people, into shady business, like everyone else. Before she had stopped showing up to assist the team, Texas had been left with a promise from CT, something about how she would tell Texas everything - because apparently it was important enough to involve her.

And now Felix had just casually mentioned her death.

He wasn’t talking to her, probably didn’t even know she was there. He was talking to Locus while he lounged on a couch in the rec room, and it just spilled out of his mouth. “I’m fine. Been fine. CT died, so what? Back the fuck off, alright?” There was anger in his voice and in his face as he glared at the cards he was shuffling. Locus sat nearby, watching him, and Tex had just pushed the door from the garage open. The instant he realized she was there, the anger snapped out of Felix’s face. He had replaced it with an easy smile. He said, “What’s up, Tex?” so casually that it was like nothing had happened.

She glanced at Locus. The irritation in his face was still very obvious, as was the tension between them. “What the fuck was that?” she asked, fixing Felix with a glare. It usually worked pretty well to make the kid uneasy. Didn’t seem to work right now, because he met her gaze unflinchingly.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he said smoothly, swinging his legs to the floor. “And, hey, look at that - it’s time for me to leave.” He slammed the deck of cards down at the table Locus sat at. When he passed her on his way out, he caught her eyes again. There was a muted aggression in that look, far different from the casual air he had put on, and the door to the greenhouse slammed shut behind him.

Texas looked back at Locus. He made no move to follow Felix, made no move to do anything except sit there. She said, “You wanna tell what that was?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” he said. “It’s our problem.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your twisted relationship or whatever the hell it is that’s goin’ on with you two. What the hell was that about CT?”

There was a pause before he answered.

“You should speak to Washington.”

She did, of course she did. She left Locus to sit at that table to deal with whatever bullshit was going on with them, and she spent the next hour hunting down Washington. It took forever because he had planted himself in one of the small rooms that was off the short hallway between the blue side’s above ground entrance and the door to the tunnels that snaked through the outer walls. It was like he had been trying to hide himself from the others.

The room was set up like a security office, a whole wall set with television screens that had long since fallen black. They were coated in dust, all of them, thick layers that were only cleaned off the last inch before the screens reached the counter before them. Wash sat in the only chair, a book in his hands, his feet on the counter. There was a dartboard on the wall opposite him, some old pitiful thing - none of the darts were in it, but had been thrown into the ceiling.

Wash looked up at her, silent.

She looked at him, at the darts in the ceiling, and at the rifle that stood by the wall. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked finally.

“Needed to be alone.” He followed her gaze up to the darts and sighed. “Felix showed it to me. I’m pretty sure he’s the reason there are darts in the ceiling.”

She was leaning against the doorframe now, eyes narrowed, gaze fixed on him. “Are you alone because of CT’s death?”

He hardly gave a reaction. A flicker in his eyes, maybe.

“Tell me how she died, Wash.”

It didn’t seem as if he was going to, but she wasn’t going to let it go, not even when he said he didn’t want to talk about it. Texas wanted the details and she was going to get them. ...But, as it turned out, Wash didn’t seem to have many. He told her the whole story, or what he knew. Zombies, a horde, how she and Felix had been attacked. How Felix had come back and CT didn’t.

He spoke blandly, just the facts, eyes trained on the book in his hands. She knew what he was doing - forcing himself to separate CT’s death from whatever he judged to be more important. Compartmentalizing. Focus on his work, on not showing even so much as a crack to anyone else, carry on like the death of a friend wasn’t weighing him down. She was the same when it came down to it.

By the end of his story, she had realized that he had probably come here not only to be alone but to able to mourn the loss of a friend without having to worry about anyone else. She left him without another word, heading off to track down Felix. More unwanted conversations, but Wash’s story was second-hand and full of holes.

And she had started to think about what Jensen had said to her days ago, about Felix murdering without hesitation. Really, she wished the kid had never spoken to her because now that idea wouldn’t shake itself from her mind.

It was harder to find Felix that she had thought. The rec room was empty when she made it back there, and the walk to the greenhouse only rewarded her with Donut complaining that Felix had taken more fruit and his radio.

“Yeah, but where did he go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask.”

“...Of course you didn’t.”

She found Grif and Simmons in the kitchen after that, Simmons cooking and Grif leaning against the counter next to him, eating from a plate of meat and veggies. There was elk in the pan in front of Simmons and redness flecked across his cheeks, and Texas had the feeling she had just interrupted something.

She sighed. “Have you seen Felix?”

Simmons pointed to a small radio on the counter beside Grif. It was emblazoned with a pink sticker on top of long-faded words. “He dropped that off and annoyed us before leaving,” he said.

“And he went where…?”

Simmons shrugged.

Grif said, “Why would we know? You should be asking that Locus guy, bet you anything he knows.”

“No,” Simmons said. He didn’t look up from what he was cooking. “No, I don’t think he would.” He said to Texas, “Felix has been hanging around Donut a lot. Free fruit or something.”

“Some kind of fruit, yeah,” Grif muttered.

Simmons reached out to slap him and snatch the plate he held away at the same time. “Or he’s with Wash, or with Tucker - “

“Most of what he does with Tucker,” Grif added, “is piss him off. It’d be great if we didn’t have to hear his bitching all the time.”

“I don’t think he’s around Locus much,” Simmons finished, ignoring Grif. “Just at mealtimes, really.” He looked up at Texas and shrugged. “Sorry.”

Texas took a deep breath, looking at the radio on the counter and thinking that this little fuck was just evading her somehow. When she left them behind, Simmons was insulting Grif for eating everything he had cooked - dinner for the two of them, apparently, and Grif ate it all.

After that, she made a quick route through the red side of the outpost. Sarge hadn’t seen him and tried to ask her what she had done to ‘his’ tank. She left him at his doorway, listening to him yell insults at her as she continued. Jensen and her friends - nope, nothing, just that Donut had dropped off fruit for Bitters and told them he’d have more once Felix stopped taking all the apples. Blue side fared no better; Tucker hadn’t seen him and tried to complain to her and flirt at the same time so she slammed his own door in his face. Church only asked her why the fuck she was looking for him, and in the idiot’s room, she only found Locus.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” she asked, leaning into the room. “Need to talk to him. Kind of important.” Only kind of because Tex wasn’t too clear on why exactly she needed to know this shit so badly. It was just… bothering her.

Locus was cleaning a gun and the whole fucking room smelled like gun oil. He glanced at her briefly. “I have no idea.”

“Really? I kinda figured you two were glued together by this point.”

“He likes his space.”

Texas was tempted to slam his door closed as well, but it had been open when she came to it so she left it that way. Right before she left, she caught one last thing from Locus.

“He might have gone out,” he said quietly. “If you find him, try not to anger him too badly.”

It was two hours before Felix showed up again, and then it was like he had just popped back into existence. She found him at the above-ground entrance on the red side, sitting at a table with crumpled sheets of paper and pens littering the floor beside him. The radio he had taken from Donut sat poised on a pile of old books on top of the chair beside him. His jacket and helmet were cast over a third chair, snow melting off of both and dripping onto the floor.

No one else was there and the music over the radio was drifting through the room. Some song from the ‘60s or the ‘70s, and damn if Felix didn’t seem to know every word to it. She dragged a chair over to his table, sitting down across from him, and the song died on his lips. He didn’t look up from what he was doing - which, to her, just looked like angry scribbling on old paper.

“What is it?” he asked lightly.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Busy. Whatever it is, Locus can handle it.”

Texas looked at the papers he had yet to crumple up. “Busy with what? All you’re doing is making a mess.”

Felix clicked his tongue, reaching over to turn the volume on the radio up. “Learn to appreciate the arts, Tex. I am trying to design a new tattoo - got a lot of skin left to fill - but it’s a little hard to do when all the pens in this place are dying and the paper’s shit.”

She didn’t deem that worthy of a response, just reached over and snatched the pen out of his hands. His head snapped up, brow furrowed. “What the fuck happened to CT?” she said. “And don’t you dare think of feedin’ me bullshit, kid. I want the truth.”

He paused and she got to watch his eyes flicker. Like he was hesitating. He flattened both his palms on the table and replaced the irritation on his face with a calm smile. “Zombies,” he said. A hint of amusement laced his words and Texas frowned. “We were investigating something, found some dead people, and then there were zombies. She got caught. She got eaten. Nothin’ much to say about it.”

She said nothing, didn’t hand over the pen when he stretched for it. The explanation he had given was just about the same as Wash’s - but something wasn’t right and she could feel it. The truth was right there, she knew it, hidden by the thin veil this fucker had thrown up. Finally, she said, “Details.”

Felix’s calm face faltered, irritation shining through, and he settled back into his chair. He talked fast, hands moving, describing this entire scene of a zombie horde. He said there were people that CT had wanted to meet - the dead ones they had been investigating - but nothing came of it because, “A horde attacked, Tex. Not a lot we could do about that.”

“How did you escape and she didn’t?”

CT was injured, at least according to Felix. Horrible leg wound, neither of them saw it coming-

“Saw what coming?”

“The second story’s floor caving in.”

She watched him while he kept talking, tried to get a feel for how truthful he was being. He didn’t have any tells that she knew of, not even in the aggression that lurked in his eyes. Felix was someone who was used to weaving stories out of nothing, convincing people to believe him, and sticking to whatever bullshit he had told someone. He told her that he narrowly escaped himself and she believed it. He said zombies had been grasping at his boots, that he had had to dive out a window, and she believed that too.

She believed the whole fucking thing, but she didn’t want to because it didn’t feel right.

Felix held his hand out for the pen, story over. He didn’t have to say anything; she handed it over, having no need to keep it away from him. Just as she went to lift herself up, he said, as if he had just thought of it, “CT said to ask you what was up with the people here.”

Texas froze halfway out of the chair. “...What about them?”

He shrugged, already going back to sliding the pen across the paper in front of him. “Something about how we’re all taught no one lives here, a lot of babble about how they get the food and supplies they have. That kind of thing.”

Texas stared at him for a few seconds, eyes widening before narrowing back to a skeptical stare. That. Right there. That didn’t fit with his story. If they went from investigating dead bodies to falling through a floor to fighting a horde, when the fuck would CT have had the time to say any of that?

Unless the people they found were those shady fuckers that had lured CT in with promises of unraveling the whole big mystery. Texas had only met them once, a chance meeting in the mountains outside of Denver, and on that day, they had tried to feed her this ludicrous story. They had all worn armor that looked as if it had been patched together from separate sets, and they were part of a force that the Director had been chasing for the entire year before Texas had quit. According to the Director, they were a resistance  military force who opposed the redlining of entire states. The one that had spoken with her had described them as an investigative force who seeked to find the reasons behind redlining states in the first place.

That man had also been very insistent on a delayed cure for the zombie virus. Said that it was being delayed purposely and that the reasons were all linked to the people here.

She had forgotten about that man, his ragtag team of followers, and that entire conversation. And now it came rushing back like a flood and Texas straightened up slowly. Felix glanced at her, curious, and she only said, “I don’t know anything. Sorry.”

Felix just went back to his drawing - it still looked like a scribble, she thought, glancing at it - and Texas left him to it.

She found herself walking on autopilot, moving through the red side and into the blue without even noticing, pushing open Church’s door and sitting down on the edge of his bed without thinking about it. On the short walk from Felix to here, she had run through the list in her head:

Jensen said Felix was dangerous.

CT was dead, eaten by zombies.

CT had told Felix that something was wrong with the people who lived here.

That investigative team, whoever they were.

Delayed cures.

Too much going on at once, too much to think about and focus on, and Texas groaned and leaned forward. She balanced her elbows on her legs, head in her hands, and shut her eyes, rubbed at her temples. For once, Church was quiet. She felt the bed sink beside her, felt his hands running up her back to squeeze her shoulders.

After a minute, she hadn’t come to any conclusion - what the fuck was she supposed to focus on anyway? Everyone had always preached about focusing on one problem, solving that, moving on to the next. But this... all of this, it seemed related, and it was way too much to throw on her at once.

When Church spoke, he was quiet, “Hey, Tex? If anything’s bothering you, you know you can talk to me.”

If it was too much for her, it’d break Church’s brain in half. “Thanks, but… not right now.” Not ever. Placing this kind of shit on him was way too much to ask. “Just need to stop thinking.”

There was a slight pause before he said, “Well, uh… we could make out?”

She snorted. “Jesus, Church… Do you know what subtlety is?”

“Oh, fuck off, alright? It’s not like I get a lot practice in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.” His hands slid off her shoulders and she turned to see him throwing them in the air - specifically both middle fingers. “Just forget I said anything.”

She was laughing now, reaching forward to take him by the neck. “Nah. I’m not gonna make out with you, Church. I got a better idea.” She waited until a light sparked in his eyes and he relaxed, then sprang on him. In seconds, she had him in a sleeperhold, laughing at his curses.

“You’re such a bitch,” he snarled, hands yanking at her arms.

She eased her hold on him, sliding her hands over his chest and letting him link their fingers together. “I’m fuckin’ with you, Church,” she said quietly, resting her head against him. “But I’m not going to sleep with you, either.”

“Then what - ?”

“Just shut up and stay here, alright?”

* * *

Felix, at the height of pleasure, was beautiful. Especially in the seconds before he came. It wasn’t a word Locus usually used to describe Felix, but it fit just then when he was lying beneath him. Body taunt, tensed, fingers scraping over Locus’s skin before digging in sharply. Eyes half shut, unfocused; his mouth was half-open, and Locus leaned down to kiss him. To swallow the moans and the sharp cry he made. To feel Felix’s gasping breaths against his lips.

He felt Felix relaxing even though the hands at his back were still latched on tightly. His breathing had slowed, and each exhale sounded like a quiet laugh. Maybe he was actually laughing. He only let go when Locus had come as well, collapsing against the blankets and the pillows. He looked at Locus and smiled, eyes still lidded, and the entire expression just radiated pure satisfaction.

If Felix was beautiful before an orgasm, then he was sinfully so afterwards. So much so that Locus chose not to move, watching as Felix’s eyes closed. It was a quiet, relaxed moment, something so rare with Felix.

Of course, it wasn’t going to last long. His eyes opened slowly, the smile melting from his face as he said, “Are you gonna move or what?” His hands pushed at Locus’s shoulders when he didn’t immediately move. “You weigh a ton. Get off me.”

Not even two minutes of quiet. Felix ran off after Locus had moved away, sneaking into the showers without even cleaning himself off. When he returned, he flung his pants into one corner and crawled back under the blankets naked, chastising Locus for having bothered to put his own pants back on. The fact that it was still the middle of the day didn’t seem to matter. It was obvious what he wanted, it was what he always wanted: to curl up next to Locus and fall asleep. Something that was difficult to do when Locus was standing and turning the pages of an old book he had taken from the rec room.

Again, middle of the day. Pointing that out to Felix only earned him a scoff and, “Whatever. We don’t have anything else to do.”

“I’m sure you could find something to do.”

“Nah.” Felix rolled over, kicking his feet loose of the blankets, twisting them so that they just barely managed to keep him covered. He reached out and snagged Locus by the beltline of his pants, tugging him back toward the bed. “C’mere, asshole, and pay attention to me.”

An hour later, Locus lounged against the pillows and the headboard, book in one hand. Felix laid between his legs, head resting on his chest. Locus ran his other hand up and down Felix’s back slowly, tracing patterns over his tattoos before ultimately landing on his hip. Felix’s eyes were closed, but there was no way of telling whether he was asleep or not. At least he had fallen silent again, leaving Locus to read as much as he wished without being interrupted every five minutes by inane outbursts. It was pleasant, but this book was becoming less and less interesting as time went on. It was from the pre-rising era, before most of humanity’s fiction had rocketed away from the morbid curiosity of apocalyptic situations. The effect was lost now. Reading something about a world in chaos lost its touch after living in one. It was a pity there didn’t seem to be any actual good reading in this entire outpost.

There was a lot he could be doing right now other than reading drivel written forty years ago. There were supplies he needed to get from Texas to complete their deal; the van needed work - an oil change, he knew, and air in the tires. Probably more on top of that. It was long past time for them to report to Control, to inform them of the fact that there was actually someone living in one of these old outposts. A few of their guns still needed cleaning to be kept in the best shape, and he needed to see where they stood on supplies.

But he ignored all of it in favor of Felix, because denying Felix something so simple was impossible.  Especially now, when he had been spending as much of his time away from Locus as he could, finding trivial things to do to waste time away. Because Felix, who would deny readily any sign of attachment to another human being, craved contact and wanted to be fussed over and held while he slept. Felix willingly falling asleep in Locus’s arms was becoming more common and he wasn’t going to be the one to end it. 

Locus dropped the book, shifted his legs so that Felix was forced to adjust as well, pushing against him before relaxing again. The book slid into the crack between the bed and the wall, falling with a thud that Locus ignored. He eased his hand under the blankets covering Felix’s leg, running his fingers over the tattooed flowers that spread from Felix’s hip down his thigh.  Felix sighed against his chest, one of his hands sliding down to his hip. The falling book must have woken him, Locus thought.

Felix spoke and he could feel it against his skin. “Hey, Locus?”

“What is it?”

“Take me to Europe.”

He was positive this had already been mentioned at some point, during one of those long phone calls when they had been apart. Felix pushed himself up, bracing himself with his hands on Locus’s hips. “Why do you want to go to Europe?”

“For the adventure,” Felix answered. His fingers were sliding underneath the waistband of Locus’s pants, like he intended to try for another round of sex - but he was smiling and it was clearly the look of someone who had just woken up. Felix wasn’t likely to want to do anything for at least another hour, including sex.

Locus ran his hands up Felix’s back, keeping him close, keeping him from moving away. “Europe is hardly an adventure.”

“Because we’ll have the money. Because we’ll deserve it.” His smile widened as he talked, putting a light into his eyes. It was cute; most of Felix’s expressions lately tended to be shrouded in lies. “Are you gonna try and tell me we won’t deserve one hell of a trip after this shit?”

He didn’t answer straight away. He thought about Felix’s behavior this past week, his growing repulsion of anything remotely affectionate - the fact that Locus knew he wanted to run off somewhere, to be around someone else. And yet, he was asking for this. A trip that would, without a doubt, become a romantic vacation. There was no doubt in his mind that Felix would somehow miss that fact, no matter how obvious. Locus could buy out an entire restaurant just for the two of them, lavish Felix with hand fed treats and amp up the romance so bad it would make himself want to gag, and it would still fly right over Felix’s head. It was amazing how much he could ignore.

Felix took his silence as a sign to keep talking. “See, I’ve already got it planned out. We can go to London, ‘cause last time I was there, some guy with a machete tried to chop my dick off and that’s kinda fucked up.” He was trailing his fingers up Locus’s stomach as he talked, holding Locus’s gaze. When Locus put pressure on his back, he leaned forward until he was hovering just a few inches over Locus’s face. Close enough to kiss. “After London,” he said, “we could go to Scotland - no, Ireland! The Irish countryside! And, and Paris - “

“The Irish countryside is crawling with the undead,” Locus interjected. “You want to leave a high hazard level for another high hazard level?”

“Trip has to have excitement, shithead,” Felix said. His eyes were dancing. “Don’t want to get bored.”

Locus didn’t answer.

And Felix continued: “Like I was saying - Paris. Always good, love me some Paris. Then, maybe… Amsterdam, or Berlin, or both. Copenhagen, but not if this is the winter. I’m not sure how cold Denmark is during the winter, but I’m not dealing with more freezing cold bullshit than I have to.” He looped his arms around Locus’s neck, leaning forward so that their foreheads met. “Just… Take me to Europe, okay?”

Instead of answering, Locus gripped him by the back of the neck tightly, pulling him down until their lips met. It wasn’t to cut him off - Felix seemed so enthralled by this trip he was planning that Locus was tempted to let him keep going, just to see the unbridled excitement unfold over his face as he talked. Now just seemed to be a good time to kiss him; he’d probably take it to mean yes, of course Locus would take him to Europe. No questions asked.

It was short because Felix pulled back to look at him through lidded eyes and say, “It’ll be just the two of us.”

Locus was forced to think, yet again, that Felix’s trip to Europe would be nothing but a romantic vacation. “Only us,” he said quietly.

Felix grinned. “Well, yeah. Who else would go? Grey? Please, we’d never be alone.” He paused and his grin took on a wicked glint. “And everyone we know here is going to be dead,” he added, voice dropping an octave and shaking with sudden laughter.

Locus’s hand tightened on his neck, fingers digging in. Felix seemed to take that as encouragement, grin growing and eyes taking on that twisted sheen as well.

Right. This again.

It wasn’t the joy of killing - Felix had always been excited by the kill, and Locus knew it was the rush of power and adrenaline he got from it. This was different. ‘Slipping’ he had called it, and that was a pretty damn good way to describe it because Felix was almost sliding back in time, back to the depraved fool he had been years ago. So long ago that Locus had thought he had moved on, had assumed he wasn’t going to be like that ever again.

Felix was still talking, quietly, quickly, whispering atrocities under his breath with a grin on his face.

Locus only watched him, eyes tracking over his face, memorizing the look in his eyes. He hated it. Felix had never been morally sound, maybe not even psychologically sound, but watching him change back into someone he had forgotten…

All those years ago, he had stood by and watched as Felix disemboweled a living man. He had been singing quietly, some song with happy lyrics turned eerie by what he was doing. Felix had turned to him, a grin on his face that bared his teeth and looked as if he was bordering on sexual thrill. The blood had dripped down his hands and the man had been choking on his own screams, but Felix had clearly enjoyed it in a way that had been disturbing then. Not because of what he had done, but rather the way he had done it - clean, practiced, his hands moving as if they had a mind of their own. As if he had done this plenty of times before. Felix had been murdering just to kill, no other reason. He had spoken of murder back then like it was a game, in a way that made Locus despise him.

It had taken months of fighting and arguing to turn him away from it. Months of watching Felix fight to control himself. Almost a year before the change was obvious, before Felix’s kills were executed quickly - he still enjoyed it, but never in the demented and depraved way in which Locus had found him.

Except now all of that was unravelling. Felix - _his_ Felix - beautiful, enticing, entrancing. Spiraling out of control and Locus wasn’t sure how to stop it.

He leaned forward to kiss Felix again, cutting him off mid-sentence. Kissed him hard enough and with enough force that the protests faded into pleased noises in his mouth. If there was a sense of urgency in how he held Felix, how he kissed him, then that was fine.

When he eased back to breathe, Felix let out a long breath. That look in his eyes had faded somewhat. “Are you trying to shut me up?” he said. “Really? This is important.”

Locus wound his hand into Felix’s hair, scraping at his scalp. “Stop talking,” he said, pulling him down again. Felix squirmed against him, hands sliding down his chest to his pants. Locus stopped him before he could snap open his pants, taking his hands from Felix’s back to snag both of his wrists.

“Oh, _come on,_ ” Felix huffed. He frowned and when Locus didn’t move or say anything, he rolled his hips forward. Already half-hard. He made a face at the fabric of Locus’s pants against his cock but didn’t move.

“No,” Locus said. He let go of Felix’s hands to push him away - and, of course, Felix pushed against him with all the strength he had.

“Multiple orgasms are a good thing,” he said.  “Don’t be a little bitch about it.”

Locus refused. He could go again, it’d be easy with Felix so eager, but there was this itch in the back of his mind that Felix’s arousal was hinged just a little bit on what he had been saying. All those whispered thoughts that bordered on fantasies. If that was the case, if there was even the slightest chance that Felix was so far gone that just _thinking_ about torturing someone was enough to make him want to fuck, Locus wasn’t going to give it to him. Encouraging Felix’s out of control nature was not going to happen.

He shoved Felix off of him and left the bed, listening to the overdramatic groans that followed him. It was quiet while he pulled a shirt on, but then -

“This is about the killing thing, isn’t it?”

Locus turned.

Felix was sprawled in the blankets again, not even trying to cover himself up. He stared at Locus like he was daring him to argue. “That’s not exactly right, is it?” he continued. “Not the killing, no - this is about how much I enjoy it, right?”

“It’s not about anything,” Locus said.

“Bullshit.” He sat up, glaring now, hands clenching the blankets. There was an edge to the glare that almost looked like he was going to panic. Almost. “It’s exactly that. You really think I don’t know? You can stand there and act like it’s some horrible thing, but you’re not the one losing your goddamn mind, are you?”

“Felix- “

“Don’t tell me I’m not. I know. I can tell.” He looked away from Locus and when he spoke again, it was quieter. “Just ‘cause it’s been a few years doesn’t mean I don’t know what it feels like.”

Locus paused. He had a choice to either dismiss the entire conversation or comfort Felix, and neither one of those would end well. Comforting Felix meant continuing a conversation based on nothing but the state of his mind; ending it would just mean it would be dredged up again later. Maybe when he was further gone. He hadn’t even made a choice when he said, “You’re not losing your mind.”

Felix scoffed.

“You’re losing control.”

“There’s a difference?”

Locus crossed the room back to him, settling on the edge of the bed and laying a hand on Felix’s shoulder, at the edge of the gunshot wound. The skin was healing, but slowly, and he should have put another bandage over it.

Felix was looking at the wall when he said, “I turned a kid into a zombie and the only regret I have is that I didn’t get to see him actually turn. And even that wasn’t enough - I want to walk into the cafeteria one morning and slaughter everyone in there. I want it to be a bloodbath, and then when they’re all dead, I want you to fuck me in that bloodbath. How is that not losing my fucking mind?”

The typical spark to his words had vanished - the joking nature, the slight hints of anger, all of it just disappeared. Locus shifted, using his grip on Felix to tug him closer. He grasped Felix by the neck, using the other one to force his head up, force their eyes to meet. If he had to guess, Felix was frightened by his own behavior and hadn’t even realized it yet.

He said, “I know you, Felix, better than you realize.”

Felix made a face and he ignored it.

“I’ve watched you go through this before,” he said, stroking his thumb over Felix’s face as he talked. “I watched you gain control, and what you’re doing now is losing that control. I know you can get it back, if you’ll fight for it.”

Felix cut him off by leaning forward to kiss him. Hungry, fueled by a desperation that Locus could feel pouring off him. When he stopped, he hardly moved away, just an inch. Enough to say, quietly, “Can we talk about Europe instead of this?”

Locus leaned back, sighing.

“Europe is better,” Felix continued. “You’re going to take me, right? We can go to Milan. Or Rome. I know you like Rome, so… Yeah, Rome.” He ran his fingers over Locus’s collarbones, biting at his lip, and Locus watched as a smile lit up his face. “I’m trying to compromise here, alright?”

“Milan and Rome,” Locus said. “Or it isn’t a compromise.”

“Then I wanna go to Venice.”

Humoring Felix was easiest, letting him get carried away with this trip idea. They could always come back to the actual problems - and they would, before he got too close to tipping over the edge. For now, he could let Felix relax. Pressing the issue would only make it worse. He watched Felix, watched the light in his eyes as he talked, as he pushed his problems back.

As long as Felix could reel himself in for the rest of the trip, Locus could force him to regain control when it was over. It was just a matter of time.


	15. some do harm

When those black-suited assholes showed up again, Carolina was going to be ready. Her team was going to be ready, every single one of them on high alert for the slightest sign of suspicious activity. They were all intent on ending this mission as quickly as possible, on getting in and getting out with no more trouble.

The car that had been sent for them turned out to be a heavy duty van with bulletproof siding and glass, and huge doors on the back that opened onto crates of food and water. Guns and ammo. Even a fresh helmet for York, one that shone in the sunlight as he pulled it over his head. Actually matched the rest of his outfit too, unlike the one he had been using previously. This van had more than enough room to hold them all, but South had disagreed with the idea of leaving her own van behind.

Didn’t matter. Two vans or one, they were prepared now, they were ready. Carolina had drilled what she had learned into their skulls.

They knew what they were up against.

North spotted them. In the dead of night, when dinner was finished and the fire snuffed out, when everyone but North had withdrawn into the vehicles for an attempt at sleep - that was when they came. Carolina was awoken by the sharp raps at the door she slept against and she threw it open to North’s helmet. The night-vision enhancement distorted the helmet, throwing shadows from the moon over the slick surface. He said, “They’ve found us. Good distance away, but they’re approaching fast. We don’t have long.”

Carolina cursed. Took a moment to breathe. “Alright.” She twisted around behind her, reaching to grasp her helmet from the floor. “Take York” -she paused to elbow the sleeping man beside her until his eyes opened- “and see if you can’t draw their attention. Don’t be seen.”

“...That’s it?”

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, no… Sounds good,” he said.

York was sitting up, squinting in the dark, yawning. “What - ?”

“Enemies. Go with North. Don’t get shot.” She slid out of the van, pulling the jacket on and fastening everything as quickly as she good. As she pulled her helmet on, York was fumbling for his own supplies.

“What are you gonna do?” he asked, moving to stand beside her. He had slept in his jacket and paused to wipe the visor of his helmet before putting it on.

“South, Maine, and I are going to destroy them,” was the only answer she gave.

Five minutes later, Carolina was slinking through the trees ahead of South and Maine. All of their helmets were equipped with night vision, but no one had one that was as specialized as North. His had a zoom feature, to help with sniping; it was high-grade, a lot stronger than the one in her own helmet. The fact that it was able to lock over the visor of his helmet or be worn without the helmet spoke volumes of how useful it was in battle. The more Carolina pushed through these trees and snow, the more she wished they all had those.

She could see the figures, though everything was thrown into shades of grey and, rarely, greens. But they were visible. Hardly more than ten, moving slowly but surely through the snow. From the way they moved their weapons, it was obvious that they were searching for something - be it Carolina and her group or other survivors. All she was positive of was that these people were up to something terrible, and she wasn’t going to let them get any further.

Carolina stood poised behind a tree, pistol in hand, ready to shoot. To her right, she could just barely see South leaning against another tree and holding her own weapon. And behind both of them was Maine, waiting for her to give the signal. She could hear the crunching of snow under someone’s feet while they stood still - South’s maybe, unless Maine was shifting around impatiently back there. It certainly wasn’t these black-suited figures, none of them were close enough.

She waited - waited to hear the ringing of a sniper shot, waited to see one of these strange people cry out - and while she waited, she ran over the details in her head.

These people, these black-armored foes, were all recruited by someone under the name of ‘Control’. More than a dozen came specially recommended by the hired professionals, the self-professed “mercenaries”. The files hadn’t bothered to give out any names, so each and every one of these people were faceless, violent people that she had to stop.

A very loose summary of what they were doing had been included. Killing zombies had been the first thing listed, but then - Kill the living. Capture healthy specimens. Test viral dosage. Report findings back to Control. At the very bottom of that list, added like an afterthought, had been “assist the professionals at all costs”.

None of it set well with Carolina, nor with the others. This was their last chance, she told herself. Defeat them, beat them back, continue on and complete the mission. Simple. Doable. And without anymore casualties.

The gunshot went off seconds later. One man fell and all the others raised their guns. Carolina had just enough time to signal South to fire, and then Maine was barreling past her. Gunfire ripped through the air, from South, from the black-armored enemies, from herself. She only looked at Maine to take care not to shoot him, watching him grappling with someone tall before burying his fist in the visor of their helmet.

There weren’t  a lot of them. Between the two that Carolina had with her and the added gunfire from York and North on the opposite side, this group was decimated quickly. She left the trees with South, reloading her weapon as she walked, scanning the trees around them. “See anyone else?” she asked. The radio system broadcasted it to North and York as well as the two with her.

Maine grunted an answer, something in the negative. If he had spotted anyone, Carolina was sure he’d let her know.

A negative from South as well. And from York, too, filtering through the radio system.

Then there was the slightest moment of silence before North spoke. “I’ve got a few over here,” he said. His voice was quiet, and Carolina could hear South cursing over him. “Looks like they’re trying to sneak up on us. Don’t worry about it. York and I can handle it.”

Carolina shifted, dragging a foot through the snow. It was quiet for now, aside from South’s low, strung-together cursing. No wind, no gunfire - not yet, at least. She looked at the bodies on the ground, at the awkward ways they had fallen, and turned her eyes to the horizon again. If there were enemies near North and York, then there could be more approaching the three of them. But through the night vision, all she saw was snow. Snow and the dark trees.

Gunfire sparked behind them - the solid, ringing shots of a sniper rifle layered over rapid fire from an automatic rifle.

“If we’re just gonna stand here,” South said, “I’m gonna go help those two.”

Carolina was just about to give her the go ahead, to lead all three of them back the way they had come, when she spotted it. The slow moving figures coming up on them. There weren’t a lot of them, not that she make out easily. Four or five were picked up by the night vision easily, but those were at the front and it was obvious that there were more behind that small group.

She glanced back at South, saw her already starting to leave, and barked out the next order. “No. South - you take the left, take out as many from a distance as you can. Maine, you and I are going through the center.”

Maine, at least, followed orders easily.

South, however, growled and snarled. “What the fuck is so important?”

“The dead,” Carolina said flatly. “Do your job.” She raised her gun and fired, nailing the first one. Maine was moving forward again, a gun in his hands - lifted from one of the fallen men, if she was to guess - but Carolina stayed put until she saw South moving. She waited until South had placed herself at a point where she could fire into the zombies rapidly. Only then did Carolina move forward, taking aim at the dead as she went, firing steadily.

It wasn’t hard work, just constant, steady fire.

South muttered, “Goddammit,  how many of these things are there?”

“Too many,” was Maine’s answer, and Carolina had to agree.

It was like they were fighting an entire town. A small town, sure, but still enough bodies to make piles as they fell. It wasn’t long before her radio crackled to life again.

North. “We’ve got a bit of a problem, Carolina,” he said. Gunfire was carried over with his voice, distorting things, making it hard to understand him at first.

“We’re a bit busy,” she said. “What kind of problem?”

“They shot York.”

She fired at a zombie close to South and then froze, gun raised, listening. North said it wasn’t too bad (or at least he said that York said it wasn’t too bad), and that he had already killed the one that injured him. “We need to get him somewhere to get a good look at him. I’m not a lot of help if we’re caught in a firefight.”

Carolina ground her teeth together.

“I wouldn’t be calling about this if York wasn’t limping,” North added. “And as fast as an infection can set in out here…”

He meant the virus, the one that turned them all. Anything got into York’s wound, and he was done for. Which settled the matter easily. “Get him out,” she said. “See if you can get him to a car and then leave. I don’t care if we aren’t back yet, just go and we’ll catch up to you.”

It was South’s yell of, “Are you _kidding_ me?” that made it obvious that that call had been broadcasted to the whole team. “You can’t just let them abandon us! What was that shit we’ve always been told? Don’t leave the team behind?”

“It’ll be fine, South,” North said.

Carolina ignored them, ordered them all to withdraw, and turned her back on the zombies still making their way forward. She ran, kicking up snow as she did, hearing the snow crunch as the other two followed her.

When they reached the campsite, Maine launched himself forward, caught a black-clothed foe by the head, and threw him to the ground in one movement. South was firing to her left, flinging curses that the enemies couldn’t hear over the gunfire. There were more men there than they had found in the woods, and every one of them turned their attention onto Carolina’s group. She edged forward slowly, shooting for the joints where the armor would be less, and over all the gunfire she heard the roar of one of their cars starting up.

Good, she thought. Hopefully North would have a chance to patch up York. This mess with these goddamn black-suited assholes - well, three of them could certainly handle it. They’d meet up with North and York after, and finish this mission.

* * *

Felix woke up every day in Locus’s arms. Sometimes, he had twisted in his sleep to face Locus, had fallen asleep with his head on Locus’s shoulder. More often, though, he woke up with Locus pressed against his back, holding him tightly. Usually their legs were tangled - it was Locus’s fault, he liked to think. Yesterday, he had woken with Locus’s arm draped loosely over him, Locus behind him and fitted against him like he was meant to be there. Their fingers were intertwined and Felix, in a daze, wondered if he had fallen asleep that way. And then Locus was shifting behind him, running his thumb lightly along the side of Felix’s hand, and he realized that Locus was awake. He was awake and he wasn’t moving. Felix pretended to be asleep for a while longer, gazing at the hand locked over his.

He woke up today resting against Locus, head on the other man’s chest, practically lying on top of him. And Felix had crawled there willingly, had lifted himself onto the bed with no other purpose than to collapse into Locus’s arms. He didn’t move, barely opened his eyes, just laid there and listened to Locus’s heartbeat and asked himself if they had been here eight days or nine. Or if it was ten and he had somehow lost an entire day.

It should have alarmed him, really. He didn’t care for losing track of time. He needed to know how much time they had left, if Control was going to get impatient soon - and if they did, would they deduct his pay? He needed his feet on the ground, needed things to be set up in front of him so he could decide what to do next, which orders had to be obeyed and which ones he could tweak to complete the job faster than expected.

He shouldn’t be lying like this either, not when he spent so much of every day avoiding Locus on purpose. But Locus’s arms were around his waist, and it felt safe and secure, and when he thought about this later, Felix was going to cringe about that. For now, Locus’s hands were warm on his body and it was quiet, and Felix felt better than he had all day yesterday.

There was a hand on his hip. The other rested lower down, along Felix’s thigh. The result was that Felix was very comfortable and very relaxed - so much so that he not only didn’t want to move, but he didn’t even want Locus to know he was awake. If Locus knew he was up, then Locus would move and start talking. And then Felix would be alert and lying here, instead of half-asleep. 

Once Felix was alert, then everything that was making this great would be turned on its head and become terrible. It always happened, always ended with Felix ripping himself from Locus’s arms with a half-assed excuse to get away. Being near Locus was sending his mind into overdrive, lighting a raging storm in his head, and he hated it. Shouldn’t be so fucking difficult just to be near the guy, it never was, but every day…

Something was screaming at him that he was getting in too deep, getting too used to this, and he shouldn’t be. Felix told himself that he didn’t care about Locus, that he didn’t need to be near him, but then shit like this happened and he would wake up in Locus’s arms and spend all his nights curled up next to him.

If they just fucked, it’d be easier. If it was just sex, Felix could ignore his emotions in favor of how great it was - but, no, all that would happen is that Locus would pull him down into the bed. And he’d slide underneath all those blankets and into the warmth, and on some nights, Locus would be kissing him like he was all that mattered. Those soft, slow kisses that had become so goddamn natural. Locus held onto him, onto his face or his neck, running his fingers over his skin, and kissing him until Felix was breathless. If it was anyone else, Felix would have said it was tender - but this was Locus, and though Locus could do gentle, that’s about as far as it ever went.

He allowed himself those stupid slow kisses because he found himself craving the attention - not the way it made him feel. Just the attention. The same reason he let himself fall asleep in Locus’s arms, because waking up to Locus’s fingers moving slowly over his skin, tracing light patterns, was definitely some kind of worship. Directly related to how Locus would run his hands over Felix’s body whenever he stripped, before they actually fucked - sometimes while they fucked, even - it was just another form of body worship, and Felix would gladly take all of that he could.

Felix stretched out against Locus, trying to work the kinks out of his body without actually moving from where he lay. He wanted to stay there, for Locus to stay there, and when Locus slid a hand up his back, he found himself smiling. Had to bite it back, but… it was nice. He slid his arms up and around Locus’s neck, pulling himself up to press his lips to Locus’s skin. He felt the pulse just under his skin, and breathed in deeply.

“You slept through breakfast,” Locus said quietly.

Felix sighed. “Shhh, shut up,” he breathed, eyes closing again. “Don’t wanna wake up, so shut up.” They could eat later, he thought. At the moment, he didn’t want any of this to be ruined by his stupid need to run from his own feelings. Being in Locus’s arms like this felt fantastic, felt _right_ somehow, like he belonged here - and goddamn, he did not want to ruin that with thinking about it.

Locus hummed in response, rubbing his back slowly. It was great, wonderful, lulling him back to sleep already. He focused on that rather than the creeping feeling that had already started spreading through him, that need to distance himself and fast. He let Locus slide his hand over his back, felt fingers ghosting over his spine. Felt good enough that Felix buried his face into Locus’s neck, entirely content to just stay there forever.

Until Locus spoke again. “We have things we need to do today,” he said.

Felix mumbled an answer, tightening his arms just a bit around Locus’s neck.

“You’re going to have to get up soon.”

“So wake me in, like, an hour,” Felix said. His voice was muffled by Locus, but that was fine. He was comfortable, this was nice, and he was holding back all those nagging thoughts. “Unless you’ve got a good reason for me to move, shut up.”

The hand on his back stopped moving. “I called Control, Felix.”

Felix sighed.

“We’re going to have to leave today. Before nightfall. You need to get up.”

“Nightfall isn’t for a long time. That’s kind of a big time frame.”

He could feel it when Locus spoke, feel the vibrations of his voice in his neck. “We do not have time for this,” Locus said. “I would prefer to leave after lunch, and that is not a lot of time before nightfall.”

He was being ridiculous, he knew, but he still latched his grip onto Locus tighter. Unrest was fluttering in his gut, insisting he just move away now because lying like this was only okay when he was asleep - and then there was a voice in his head, saying the opposite. A voice that said, quite plainly:  _fuck it, never leave his arms, who gives a fuck?_

He was tempted to give in to that other voice, but it felt so childish somehow. Like, something about seeking comfort in Locus’s arms was so pathetic that he could hardly believe he kept letting himself wake up like this. Let himself be held while he slept - what in gods’ name was he doing?

And there it was.

Nagging thoughts won, and Felix pulled away. He was off the bed in a second, pulling clothes on with his back to Locus. If they had to leave, then alright - he was going to throw himself into getting everything ready to go. Doing that would give him something else to focus on.

Then Locus’s hands were on his waist, and he froze. Just for a second. Long enough for him to think that this was unnecessary, but he was leaning back into Locus anyway. That comforting heat washed over him again and he sighed, biting at his lip to try to keep a smile from twisting his lips. Nothing to smile about anyway, just Locus sliding a hand over his bare stomach to grip his chest. And Locus kissing softly at the base of his neck as he moved to lay his other hand over the wound on Felix’s shoulder.

Felix pulled in a breath slowly. “What are you doing?” he said carefully.

Instead of answering, Locus said, “You should put a new bandage over this wound before we leave.”

“It’s fine, honestly - “

“A scab isn’t good enough, Felix.”

Felix squirmed, shrugging Locus’s hand off his shoulder. “Just… stop it. I’m fine, the wound is fine. Back the fuck off.” He pulled away from Locus again, finding a clean shirt and yanking it over his head. Felix glanced back at Locus before he reached for his belt, and watched him slide his own shirt on. Looked at the way his brows were knitted just slightly, and felt his chest constrict.

Shit.

Double shit, because Locus was just concerned and his dumbass was being flippant about it and he _actually fucking cared_ that he was upsetting Locus. Jesus Christ. The loud sigh he gave was absolutely laced with annoyance at his own bullshit school-girl reactions. “I’ll get a new goddamn bandage, alright? I’m not going to waltz back out into zombie danger zones with it uncovered, okay? Stop bringing it up.”

It sounded angry, which was good. Maybe Locus would just think all the anger was directed at him and stop trying to have serious talks. He had been bringing up that fucking bullet wound for days, asking Felix if it still hurt (only if he put too much strain on it) or if it was stiff (only if he moved it too fast). It was annoying, because he didn’t need to hear any of it - he knew how his body worked - and he certainly didn’t need Locus worrying over him. Just set off more alarms that told him that he needed to get the fuck away and fast.

Of course, once he started talking, he couldn’t shut himself up. “Even if I didn’t put a bandage on the damn thing, what would happen? Is zombie blood magically going to get into a wound that’s covered by a shirt and that fucking jacket? I should have worn that jacket when I left you in the first place, ‘cause I bet a bullet wouldn’t have broken through the armor in that one, and then I wouldn’t have to put up with this.” The jacket in question was lying on top of the dresser, thrown over Locus’s own. He reached for it, only to have Locus snag his wrist - fuck, he had gotten close suddenly. Felix looked at him, into his eyes, and tensed.

His heart was pounding and he needed so very badly to put distance between the two of them. He said, “I don’t need you to look after me like this. That’s what I’m trying to say - you get me, don’t you?”

Locus only said, “Yes,” but Felix felt like he was reading all of his frantic emotions and whirlwind thoughts.

As ridiculous as it seemed, Felix was easing into a battle-ready stance. He was standing barefoot on a cold, dirty floor, readying himself as if he was about to be attacked. All because every part of him was screaming to move. Because Locus still held onto his arm - loose enough that Felix could pull away at any moment - but Locus’s fingers were burning into his skin and he did nothing. He stood, muscles tight enough to make the wound in his shoulder twinge, and glared at Locus. “Let go,” he said flatly. “You said we had to leave, right?” Locus’s fingers unwound from his hand and Felix shifted closer to the dresser, to the jacket he had been reaching for.

He watched Locus move around the room, picking up weapons, leaning down to lace up his boots. He reached past where Felix stood to grasp his jacket, and the whole time Felix just stood there. Watching. Sliding his eyes over Locus’s face, over his back; the jacket obscured his muscles but was tailored perfectly, bottom of it ending above the holster on his hip. He watched as Locus pulled his hair up tightly, and then Locus was staring at Felix out of the corner of his eyes.

Locus said, “Why aren’t you ready yet?”

It was like he had snapped back to his normal business-first attitude, cold words, startlingly different from how he had been earlier. It was like Felix had been slapped, and it was enough for him to turn his back on Locus again to pull his jacket on. He stared at the top of the dresser as he did, forcing himself to focus.

They were leaving. Time to move on. Which also meant it was time to go to Kimball’s again, time to grin and charm his way into the place, to do all of Locus’s talking for him so that the fools accepted him just as easily as they did Felix. That also meant that this bullshit job would finally be over, and Felix would get his massive paycheck and be free to run away to Mexico if he wanted.

He didn’t, but the fact that it was an option was nice.

But before all of that, before he could walk back into his apartment in Portland and collapse on the bed for an entire day, there was the small matter of having to ride in that van again. The van and its small quarters. The minute space they had for sleeping that always led to Felix being able to feel Locus, even when they didn’t sleep pressed against one another. He remembered multiple nights, usually during the summer, when he’d lie awake in the heat and run his fingers over Locus’s chest and shoulder and down his arm - all because he couldn’t sleep. He remembered doing it, remembered Locus watching him - because if Felix was awake then he was too. Or those nights where he would wake up in the middle of the night and Locus would lull him back to sleep with comforting touches and light kisses. He never remembered what would wake him up, but he remembered _that_ and he stood in this dirty old room now and sighed.

That fucking van was going to be the death of him.

He was lacing up his boots, sitting on the bed next to his rifle, the knife set, and the blades that had once belonged to CT. The blades were going to go into his pack, and he was finally going to replace that missing knife on his hip. But then the lights snapped off and he was plunged into sudden darkness. He froze, listening to the machinery’s hum die away with a whine, leaving an eerie void behind. It was quiet for all of three seconds before he said, “What the fuck?”

Then there was a bright light flaring in his eyes and he cursed, throwing a hand up. “Wow, thanks, asshole. Always wanted to be blinded. What are you doing anyway?”

“The phones have flashlights,” was all Locus said in response. He said it like Felix was an idiot, like he should have known this. Back to normal, then.

He heard Locus push the door open and got to his feet, trying not to trip over the loose laces of his boots. In the dark of the hallway, the light from Locus’s phone barely made a difference. He could see a dim outline of Locus’s arm and he reached forward, groping in the dark until his fingers found purchase. He had to take longer steps to end up right behind Locus, holding onto his arm tightly.

There didn’t seem to be anyone else in their rooms right now. He thought that was a bit strange until he remembered that, oh yeah, he had slept through breakfast. The door at the end of the hall swung open as Locus pushed it. If the flashlight on his phone had barely illuminated the hall, it did nothing at all in the wide open rec room before them. It was quiet here too, that eerie pressing silence where once there had been electricity humming, and footsteps, and the constant noise of people talking, and airtight doors hissing open. Felix slid his hands down Locus’s arm, easing one into Locus’s hand. The other rested at his wrist, underneath the edges of his jacket.

Felix said, “It’s like being in a tomb.”

Probably more accurate than he meant it to be, because he realized seconds later that a lot of these doors were either locked or sealed. And neither keycodes nor airtight doors were going to work too well without electricity.

He said, “We’re going to die here.”

Locus made a noise of agreement and Felix was sure that he wasn’t paying any attention. Just heard Felix talking, make a noise when appropriate, how fucking rude. Felix dug his nails into the back of Locus’s hand, frowning in the darkness.

He heard the low murmur of voices before the door to the red side was flung open. A blazing light lit the way before them and voices seemed to bounce off the walls. Everything mixed together, curses and insults, but above all of it was Sarge. “ - was sabotage!” he claimed. There was a flashlight in his hand, large and bulky and clearly the light source. “Those damn Blues struck again!”

“Why would they sabotage where they live?” Grif was saying. He was speaking at the same time as Sarge, insisting that it made no fucking sense because - “They _live_ here!”

“They’re out to get us,” Sarge said. He swung the light around and shone it into Grif’s face, smirking when he snarled and shielded his eyes with one arm. “Those no good dirty Blues… They’ve got their own power source, I’m sure of it!”

“You lost your sanity living out here, didn’t you?” Grif asked dryly.

The door behind them was still open, and Simmons came through it to stand next to Grif. Lopez was with him, holding another flashlight. He used his to scan across the room while Simmons joined Grif and Sarge in arguing. As the light moved, Felix let go of Locus, shifting over a couple of steps and smoothing down the front of his jacket pointlessly. Just had to put distance between the two of them. He shot a glance at Locus in time to see him sliding his phone into his pocket, and then pulled at the ends of his jacket.

The light landed on the two of them and Lopez said, “ _Qué idiotas das cuenta esos dos bastardos?”_

Sarge said, “See? Lopez has the right idea! We need to take those Blues out, boys, and we need to do it now.”

Beside him, Locus hummed quietly, an annoyed noise. Grif insulted him for it, and then Simmons said over both of them, “No, guys - Sarge, I think Lopez is talking about them.”

And then Sarge’s flashlight was spun onto them as well, putting the two of them in a kind of spotlight. Locus, of course, didn’t seem too pleased at all. He raised his head, turned away from the light shining on his face but kept his eyes on the group across the room. But a spotlight was, like, _just_ the thing that Felix needed. Put him on the spot and distract him from this asshole he was standing next to.

Perfect.

He raised one hand in a wave, grinning. Simmons started to talk and Felix rolled right over him, because if he was going to distract himself, he was going to do it now. “Hey. Yeah, I don’t know how much you guys know about this, but we seem to have no power.”

“No shit, jackass,” Grif spat.

Felix ignored him. “That’s kind of a big fuckin’ problem, see, because I - well, Locus and I - we were going to leave. You guys are boring and this old outpost is not at all worth staying at. I say that because your lights are dead and all of you are noisy assholes, but - “

“If you don’t lower that light,” Locus interrupted. “I will break your wrist.”

“Is that a threat?” Sarge barked. It was like he was bristling, actually tensing up and trying to look bigger than he was.

“Yes,” Locus said. His voice was flat but when Felix glanced over at him, his face was carefully neutral ...and tinged with anger. “I thought that was obvious.”

“These guys are idiots,” Felix said with a shrug. “Are you really surprised that he missed that?” It didn’t get any reaction whatsoever from Locus, who was still focusing his stare on Sarge. God, he really was annoyed about the light in their faces. It drew all of his attention off of Felix and somehow, that was just disappointing. So, he said, “Also, you kind of interrupted me. Don’t appreciate it. It’s rude, really, I thought we had talked about this? I get to talk, you stand there and look scary. It works really well.”

Locus’s eyes flicked to him. “You were babbling.”

“Have you ever had to think of what to say with no warning?” Felix said, frowning. “It’s actually a little bit difficult, so forgive me if it’s not perfect for once.” He knew that there were four other men standing on the other side of the room, and that every stupid word that came out of his mouth was heard up by all of them, but he couldn’t stop himself. Somehow no matter how hard he tried not to focus on Locus, the fucker kept dragging all of his attention back.

And, really, right now there was just no reason for this.

The barest hint of a frown was pulling at Locus’s lips. He said, “Perfect is an exaggeration for your ridiculous monologues.”

On the other side of the rec room, the Reds were still watching and listening. Sarge had lowered the light just barely so that it wasn’t shining in Locus’s eyes. While Felix snarled out pointless insults, he said loudly, “What in the hell are we lookin’ at here?”

Grif snorted. “Lovers’ quarrel.”

Felix was ready to snap at him too - because no, no this was absolutely not a lovers’ quarrel - and then the nearby door to the cafeteria was screeching open. Both flashlights slid over to it, Felix’s insults died on his lips, and everyone’s attention turned to the door. It opened slowly, flashlight beams illuminating arms pushing and then there was Texas, panting and sweating and bracing herself against the doorframe.

She looked at them - or at least Felix assumed she was looking at the Reds. The light was making her squint and everything else was dark. “What the fuck are you guys doing…?” she panted. “The power is out, and all of you… you’re just gonna stand around?”

There was a brief silence before Felix said, “Did you open that door by yourself? Goddamn, Tex. Are you sure you’re human?”

Tex’s answering look was full of so much disdain that he could see it even with darkness shrouding most of her face. She didn’t say anything to him, however, just slipped out of the doorway to let others pass. And it seemed that everyone else had been in there - Church and Tucker followed her out quickly, that overgrown hellhound trotting at Church’s heels; the three kids came after them, none of them looking too good; and then Doc, Donut, Wash. After that, there was the briefest pause before Caboose crossed the threshold. The door slammed shut afterward.

It was only when Caboose frowned at his hands and flexed them that Felix realized that idiot had held the door open for everyone else. He must have been a hell of a lot stronger than Felix had thought - like, a lot stronger. Those doors were heavy to push open even when the electricity worked.

The others were talking, and Felix ignored them. He figured Locus was listening anyway and would fill him in on anything important that might come up. What little he had paid attention to had gone like so - Tex said something about the lights, Sarge blamed Church, Church yelled at him, and then Tex yelled at both of them. That was apparently as far as this shit was going to go, so really, who could blame him if he zoned out for a bit?

He ended up leaning against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, staring into the darkness that hung over all of them. He heard Wash’s voice and tuned in just long enough to hear him trying to calm Sarge down. Felix sighed. “Hey, Locus,” he said quietly. “How long do you think we have until the air runs out?”

“Hours,” he said.

“Yeah, but how many?” He shifted closer to Locus, looking up at him. The light was off of the two of them now and was barely bright enough to bring Locus’s face out of the darkness. It was easy to tell that he wasn’t looking at Felix, though. When Locus didn’t answer, Felix leaned against his arm, nudging him. “C’mon, Locus. Place a bet on how long until we all die.”

“I’m not going to play your games,” Locus said. Still didn’t look from the arguing idiots. “There are more important things happening right now.”

Felix glanced over at the crowd. Tex and Wash seemed to be doing a great job of calming everyone down. If Sarge shining his flashlight in Church’s eyes, Caboose yelling, Church cursing, and Tex stomping away with Lopez was calm. “Where are they going?” he asked.

Locus took a deep breath. He said, “If you had been paying attention, you would know.”

Clearly, he wasn’t going to get much else from this asshole. Felix moved away from him again, and after a moment’s pause, crossed the distance to where the rest still stood. He shoved Doc aside, squeezed past Church and Tucker, and avoided Sarge and his damn flashlight to sling his arm around Wash’s shoulders.

Wash sighed. “Hello, Felix,” he said dryly.

Felix smiled at him, something that was probably missed in the darkness. He squeezed Wash’s shoulder lightly. “Hey, sweetheart. You want to tell me where those two are going?”

“You weren’t paying attention,” Wash said. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Just answer the question.”

Wash didn’t answer; he pulled Felix’s arm off of him, and Simmons turned to Felix instead. He said that even though they hadn’t reached a concrete decision on what to, Texas had taken Lopez away to find the main power generator. “She wants to see if she can get it online,” he said. “I don’t know what good it’ll do though. I mean, the power’s cutting out already, so what could she expect to do?”

Church growled a remark here - “Probably expects to fix whatever fuckup you guys are responsible for.” - and then Sarge was grumbling insults right next to where Felix stood.

He sighed, nudging Wash. “Can we do something? I don’t want to hang around these idiots all day.”

In the ongoing insult battle between Church and Sarge, neither one of them noticed what he had said. Which was good, because as much as he didn’t want to, Felix could easily see himself engaging in one long, pointless argument. When Wash didn’t immediately answer, Felix leaned into him, jostling his shoulder. “Why don’t you go get things ready to go with Locus?” Wash said with a sigh.

Felix paused and threw a glance back at the door. He expected it to be difficult to see Locus in the low light, but the guy wasn’t even there. He had left entirely, slinked off somewhere with that strange quiet he possessed. Those few seconds that Felix spent staring back there sparked irritation in his gut - the root of it was that Locus had just left. No warning, no comment about it, nothing.

Just. Gone.

He said to Wash, “Nah. Locus has gone to do his own thing. Besides, I need to get away from him for a bit. Spend some time with you, sweetheart. Sounds a lot better.” The answering sigh from Wash was low and annoyed, exactly what Felix expected. It did absolutely nothing to make him feel less annoyed at Locus for disappearing.

That, he thought, needed to be added to the list of bullshit that was wrong with him lately. No matter how often he walked away from Locus, the man was never supposed to go off without him - at least not without letting him know. That wasn’t too much to ask, not at all.

It took Wash a bit to respond - not that he wasn’t talking, but he was busy with Sarge. Telling him, Grif, and Simmons that it didn’t matter who was responsible for the lights. “Stop trying to start fights,” he said. “We’re standing in darkness. We can’t get out of this place.”

“We’re all going to die in only a few short hours,” Felix added.

The look Wash threw his way was full of so much restrained anger that it was visible even in the dim light. “Thank you, Felix. The point is that we need to start getting ready to leave.”

“Leave?” Sarge repeated. Sounded as if he had never even considered it. “I’ve lived here for twenty years! There’s no need to leave. Not until every last shambling zombie is dead.”

“Twenty years?” Wash repeated. His voice was rising again, laced with surprise. “Are you… you cannot be serious.”

Sarge laughed shortly. “That’s what I said. Figures a Blue sympathizer like you couldn’t hear right.”

Wash said nothing. He glanced at Felix, who shrugged, and then back at Sarge. “I’m not even going to ask why you stayed here for so long - “

“I told you: Had to kill the zombies.”

“....Right.”

In the end, Wash ended up ignoring Sarge, turning the conversation back to the lights and the power problem. He reiterated that Tex and Lopez had gone off to fix the lights, and after being interrupted a few times, he said they had to get things ready. That they had to leave - and he talked right over Sarge’s grumbling protests - because if the lights had failed like this, it wasn’t a good thing.

To Felix, it was amazing that these people even had to be told this. These outposts were such an old, forgotten piece of history that it didn’t make sense for one even to be standing, let alone for people to live in it. The failing power to the doors was common - for fuck’s sake, he had heard Church tell Tex that on more than one occasion. He’d heard Simmons tell the kids once that all those blocked off hallways and X’d out doors had worked some time ago. Logically, if the power was failing bit by bit, one day it was all going to crash down and lock them in here. He just wish it had happened after he and Locus left.

He thought that all of these idiots could die in their underground prison and it would be a little less work for him. He thought about how reluctant he was to move away from Locus this morning, how he had slept through breakfast, and had the sudden, crushing idea that it was his fault they were trapped here. His fault that he was dealing with a group of morons, his fault that Locus had disappeared somewhere.

It was buried quickly. Felix took the time to properly lace up his boots, moving his fingers on memory rather than relying on that pitiful light source from Sarge. By the time he straightened back up, the overhead lights were flickering on.

It was a lot dimmer than before, yellowed tones thrown over everything rather than the blinding white it used to be. The morons still seemed far too happy with this - Sarge said something about how he knew he didn’t have to leave, which prompted Simmons to agree with him at the same time that Grif commented on the opposite.

“We’re still gonna die here,” Grif said. “What the fuck do you think is gonna happen when the lights go out again?”

“Use you for fuel,” Sarge answered. “We could make crude whale oil.”

Grif cursed at him, and then Tucker and Church joined in, and Felix had absolutely had enough of this. He drove his elbow into Wash’s side, ignoring the annoyed look shot his way. “I’m getting out of here,” he said. “Going to go pack shit up to leave.”

“Yeah,” Wash said quietly. “Yeah, that was going to be my idea if they had stopped arguing long enough to hear it.” He paused. “Pretty sure I told you to do that earlier.”

“You said go with Locus,” Felix said. “Locus is gone. Come with me, sweetheart. I think I need another person’s help anyway.”

Wash didn’t leave with him. Wash said he had to stay here and try to calm everyone down before Tex came back. Once she did, they were going to figure out where to go, what to do now that the power was actually failing. But he didn’t have Felix go off on his own either, no, Wash had snagged someone out of the group and told them to go with Felix.

Wash, being the terrible person that he was, had saddled Felix with Donut as his extra help.

And Donut didn’t shut up. From the instant Felix pushed open the door to the blue side’s hall, he was chattering on about how the blue side seemed so much smaller than his - “Ohh! But you guys have nicer showers! I’ve been in there once, it was so nice… No chance of catching people doing gross things. Eugh, some of the things I’ve seen - _Disgusting._ ” - and then he followed Felix into his room, and the topic changed to how many guns Felix had against the wall. And the blades that still sat on the bed, the size of the bed, and oh, by the way, did he really share this room with Locus?

“Can you just - can you work quietly?” Felix asked. This day had tripped into full-on annoying and he could feel the pressure of a headache forming. “Stop asking me things, alright? I’m not going to tell you what I do with Locus anyway.”

“I could probably guess,” Donut said. He had handed all the blades and weapons from the bed to Felix and was supposed to be folding blankets. “Not a lot of things two guys can do when they’re locked in a bedroom together.”

“That’s great. Stop talking.”

It was silent for about five minutes before Donut started singing to himself. Felix took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and reminded himself that even though he was currently strapping his pistol to his hip, he could not shoot Donut in the face at point blank range. He concentrated on filling his pack with the blades and various things scattered around the room, sliding a knife into the empty place on his belt. Concentrated on anything that wasn’t going to cause the irritation sparking in his gut to flare up into a rage. Once Donut was done folding blankets - into the neatest pile that Felix had ever seen them - he started talking again.

“I was thinking that you guys could have some of my music.” When Felix fixed him with a stare, Donut grinned. “I’ve got a lot of CDs, and you spent a lot of time stealing my radio so… Would you like some?”

That was not at all what he had expected. Felix paused, then shrugged. “Uh… Sure.” And then he watched Donut start toward the door before saying - “Wait! Put the blankets in my van before you run off. One less trip for me.”

At least Donut didn’t mind helping out. He took off with the pile of blankets in his hands and then Felix was left in the silence of his room. Left to sort through the ammunition and the guns, to figure out what went in his pack and what went with Locus insead. To sit on the floor and take forever organizing his pack and pulling it closed around the shotgun sticking out of the top. He sat there and found himself thinking about Locus, and the van, and how he wanted so badly to be taken on that grand trip to Europe. He could go by himself, he knew that, but it wouldn’t be the same. Every time he thought about going anywhere, he pictured Locus with him, and that was unsettling.

Felix swung the pack onto his back but didn’t move from the floor. He was sitting in front of the old dresser, frowning at it and trying to curb the gnawing sensation spreading through his gut. He knew very well what it was, why he was getting so caught up in being around that motherfucker, and he was going to stamp it right the fuck out. Locus was his partner, he told himself. Nothing else.

Eventually, he left the room with the pack on his back, two guns over one shoulder, and a shotgun in his hands. Back in the rec room, the lights were flickering.  Someone had braced the garage door open with a crate. The only people in there now were the three kids. Jensen pointed toward the garage door without saying anything. Her eyes were on the gun in his hands. Upstairs, the big doors had been pulled open again. There was no one up there that he could see, but the door to the armory had been braced open just like the door downstairs. When he passed by, weaving around the gutted tank to his van, he heard Tex and Sarge. Ignored them in favor of pushing the van doors open.

The blankets had been placed behind the passenger seat. Apparently, Donut had taken good care in picking a spot - and it looked like some other things had been neatly organized as well. Felix frowned and made a mental note to kill that annoying fuck quickly. Not even torture would be worth keeping him alive any longer.

He climbed into the van, crawling on his knees to the passenger seat to toss his pack into it. Then he turned to the gun racks, placing the ones he held in empty slots. He paused to run a hand over his bike, snag an empty pack out of the van, and then he was going back downstairs to repeat the same damn trip. Fill up the pack with all of Locus’s junk, grab his dead phone off the bedside table, and then Felix grabbed the last two guns from the wall and made a second trip up to the van.

By the time he finished putting everything away, Locus was there, standing at the open back doors and watching him. Felix glanced over at him, feeling the irritation building in his gut. And that’s all it was - just irritation. He offered Locus a smile and said, “Did you come to check up on me? ‘Cause clearly I don’t need your help. Got all our shit up here. We can leave whenever you’re done running around with these idiots.”

Locus ignored every word he said. “Come with me,” he said quietly. “They’re going to discuss where to go.”

“And this concerns us how exactly?”

“We can send them to Kimball’s.”

Yeah. Great. More work.

He left with Locus anyway, following him back down the stairs and into the rec room. It had become their temporary meeting place. Everyone was crowded in, sitting in groups at the tables and lounging on couches. There was one empty couch remaining, and Locus led him over to it. Felix sat as far from Locus as he could, back against the arm of the couch, and pressed his feet into Locus’s leg.

Tex was the only one standing. She was talking about the power failure, what she and Lopez had figured out while they worked - and apparently Locus had been with them too, because his name was thrown in as well. Felix was listening, but not watching. His eyes were trained on Locus, watching the way his mouth twitched and his brow furrowed as Felix pushed against his leg with more force.

Tex said, “This is going to be a reoccuring thing, guys. You can’t just ignore it and expect it not to happen again.”

Locus slung his arm underneath Felix’s legs, pulling him violently until Felix’s legs rested across his lap. His hands settled over Felix’s calves, and as Tex continued to talk, Locus started to rub the thumb of one hand over his pants. He could feel the movement through the fabric, feel the small hint of the warmth that came with Locus. Felt nice.

From where she stood, Texas was trying to urge them all to agree to leave as soon as possible. They needed to get out, she said, needed to find somewhere safe before the power failed for good and trapped them inside. That comment sparked noisy remarks from some of the idiots, and Felix ignored them all to shuffle closer to Locus, forcing the other man to rest at least one hand on his thigh. Locus glanced at him before trailing fingers along the inside of his thigh, turning his attention back on Tex as he did.

Felix threw an arm around Locus, fingers working at his hair to pull some of it loose.

Texas said, loudly, “Locus has said that he and Felix can lead us to another camp.”

When Felix glanced away from Locus, it was to see a lot of eyes staring back at him. He didn’t even pause in pulling more of Locus’s hair down, just said, “Hmm? What are you lookin’ at? Do you expect a show from me?”

Locus said, “We’ll lead you if you agree to go,” and brought his hand up to pull Felix’s out of his hair. Felix rested it on his shoulder instead, and spent the rest of that short, boring meeting glancing from Locus to the idiots around the room and back again. Locus was still running a hand over his thigh, fingers pressing along the inside, and Felix told himself not to think about it.

Don’t think about how comfortable it was to sit with his legs draped over Locus. Don’t think how, if no one else was here, he would have been in Locus’s lap by now. Maybe straddling him, maybe not - maybe he’d just sit there and rest against him. Give in to how things tended to feel better when it was just the two of them. Focusing on Locus certainly made it easier to ignore how violently he wanted to kill all these people. Like Locus could siphon all the manic energy out of him before it could root so deeply that he had to follow the urges.

Of course, telling himself not to think about any of that just meant he was thinking of it now more than ever. Each glance toward another person in the room came with an idea of how to murder them. Never clean, easy deaths. Shoot someone in the knees, cut open their stomach, pull out their entrails. Carve designs into someone’s flesh while they bleed to death at his hands. Kill someone in front of their friend, their lover, whatever. Make it last, make it terrible, listen to the other scream and cry and then let them live for a while. Inflict minor wounds, keep them in pain before finally killing them.

It was terrible and he knew it. Wasn’t any better that looking at Locus and trailing his eyes over the other’s face just made his gut twist in ways that he really didn’t want it to. Made shit too confusing, especially since he was torn between moving away from Locus and wanting to hold onto him.

Stupid, ridiculous urges, one after the other.

Kill that person. Cling onto Locus like he was a fucking lifeline. Torture someone else, kiss Locus until he couldn’t breathe.

His fingers were moving back through Locus’s hair, through the locks he had already pulled loose. Locus was still rubbing softly at his thigh. And Texas was still fucking talking. He glanced up at her and frowned. “Hey, Tex, are you gonna shut the fuck up any time soon?”

She stopped immediately and glared at him.

“Some of us got places to go,” he continued. Locus was telling him quietly to stop talking and he ignored him. “Wrap it up. Get your shit together and let’s go, yeah?”

Texas glared at him for a few more seconds before saying, “If you can shut the fuck up for a few more minutes, I’ll be done.” She flicked her gaze to Locus and added, “You wanna keep him quiet before I break his neck?”

Felix made a face at her.

It took five more minutes for them all to scatter around to pick things up that they wanted to take with them. Felix assumed it was going to take much longer for them to be ready to go anywhere, and since he had nothing else to do, he didn’t move off of Locus. As soon as the last person disappeared behind a door, Felix reached for Locus, pulling himself forward to kiss him. He felt Locus’s hands run from his legs to his back, felt how he was being tugged forward to straddle Locus - and he stopped. Put his hands on Locus’s shoulders and pushed until the other’s hands fell from him.

Somehow, for whatever reason, Locus giving in to him so readily just wasn’t what he wanted. Felt too easy, like part of what made this so enjoyable was forcing Locus to break and pay attention to him.

If that was even right.

Locus had been generous with kisses and sex the whole time they were here, not quite eager but just so willing. And now Felix was thinking too hard about this. He snapped his teeth together, tensing rising in his shoulders, and pushed off of his partner entirely. He stood by the couch, pulling at his jacket as if it had been disturbed, and said, “Right. We should, uh… y’know. Do whatever it is we have to do before leaving.” He wasn’t looking at Locus, but he heard the couch creak as Locus stood. Heard himself babbling still, going on about how he already packed up their room, so really what else did they have to do?

He needed to refocus (and shut up) and pay attention to something that wasn’t Locus. Even if it was just detailed thoughts of how to kill the people around him, that’d be fine at this point. He shouldn’t have let himself be drawn to Locus like he was, shouldn’t have let himself lounge over Locus or focus at all on Locus or try to find some kind of respite from the violent thoughts he was having.

He headed up the stairs to the garage, not too sure what he was going to do up there. Sit in the van, maybe. Check all their guns. Check his bike and their supplies, see if he could find where Locus had stashed those bombs Texas had given him the day before. Locus was following him; he could hear the asshole’s footsteps but refused to look back at him. Refused to answer when Locus said something, refused to even snark about the annoyed noise Locus made at his silence. Just threw open the door to the garage for the third time that day.

The garage was still empty. The large doors were still open, and snow was rustling inside with every breeze. Felix huffed, pulling the collar of his jacket up. Fuckin’ winter was bullshit. “Gettin’ tired of this cold weather,” he muttered.

In the brief moment he had taken to scowl at the snow outside, Locus had moved in front of him, leading him toward the van. “Stop complaining,” he said. “Double check everything in the van.”

“I was _going_ to do that already.”

Locus grasped one of the back doors and pulled it open. “Then do it.” He watched Felix with a rough stare until he had climbed up into the van.

“And what are you going to do?” Felix asked. His eyes were on Locus’s face, looking for any minute shifting in the annoyed expression that the guy wore. Nothing.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. Not even his voice gave anything away. “Stay here.”

Felix frowned, picking at the bottom of his jacket. He was sitting in the van, beside his bike, feet hanging out over the edge of it. He stared at Locus and had to restrain himself from yanking the asshole in here with him. God, even when Locus was being an asshole - and that’s what he was doing, all this bullshit with not giving away anything and actually ordering Felix around - even with all that, Felix’s first instinct was to keep him close.

Which was utter bullshit in its own right.  

Instead of reaching for Locus, touching him, Felix kicked at him with one foot. “Get,” he said, speaking like this was an order. Like Locus was a dog. “Go on.”

Locus glared at him. He reached out and took both of Felix’s legs in one arm, pushing them into the van. The door swung shut suddenly and Felix’s legs slammed into it. He cursed at nothing, at no one, and eased onto his back to glare at the ceiling of the van.

It was several minutes before he moved again and even then, it was only because someone had knocked on the door his legs still rested against. He opened the door with a sigh, not sure who he expected - probably Locus - but he was met with Donut’s bright smile. Donut holding a box in his hands that had a small stack of CDs on top of it.

“Hey! I wasn’t sure how long the trip would take,” he said. Started talking the instant the door had opened. “I’ve got five CDs for you - hopefully music you like, I’m not too sure, and your partner was grouchy when I tried to ask him.”

The mental image of Donut facing grumpy Locus and his glares was enough to make Felix laugh. He tried to stifle it, but Donut caught it anyway. “Yeah, okay,” Felix said. He held out one hand and waited for Donut to hand over the music. Five blank CDs, he noted, shuffling through them. Not even a word on the discs or the cases. “What’s in the box?”

“It’s fruit,” he said, and then he was shoving that into Felix’s hands as well. “You were always stealing it, and we had a lot, so I packed some up for you.”

Felix shook the box and was rewarded with the sounds of things hitting each other. He set to opening it and didn’t look up when the second back door was pulled open. He did glance up when Donut sat down beside him. He said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

And then Donut was talking again. He asked about Felix’s bike, why they had so many guns, and Felix gave him quiet answers that didn’t take much thought. He started on an apple, shoving the box over until it hit the other containers against the wall. At least listening to Donut babble was a good distraction from his thoughts.

He just sat there, staring out into the garage and watching as people came and went. Those three kids had their jeep packed up first, ready to go, and he glanced over them. Saw how Jensen and Smith were the ones working and how that other one, Bitters, had just thrown a blanket over the back seat, climbed in, and slammed the door behind him. He watched Church and Tucker arguing with Sarge, watched Wash trying to organize the mess that still dominated the humvee. It wasn’t the most interesting way to spend his time, but it was pleasant enough.

At least, it was until Donut turned the conversation onto Locus.

Felix sighed, wondering if it would catch anyone’s  attention if he just shoved Donut out. Maybe if Donut made a lot of noise when he hit the ground, it would.

Donut said, “Ohh, I’ve been meaning to ask! How long have you two been together?”

They weren’t together, and the very thought of it made his heart skip a beat. What he said was, “I don’t know. Five years? More, I think.”

He had been talking about their partnership but that grin on Donut’s face meant he hadn’t been clear enough. He thought about actually clarifying, but it was just… easier to let Donut go on about how great it was that he could find someone and stay with them for so long. After that first sentence, Felix started to tune him out. Focused on the fact that everyone was still getting ready to leave, trying to ignore the nagging thought that he had been with Locus for five fucking years.

Donut was spouting nonsense that sounded extremely sexual when Felix spotted Locus heading for the van. He was coming  from where Texas was now settling onto her bike. “Get out,” he said to Donut. “I think we’re leaving.”

“Hm? Oh. Okay. Enjoy the music,” he said, hopping out.

Felix grunted, reaching up to grasp the doors. He was still watching Locus even as he slammed the doors shut. He locked them down, took Donut’s stupid CDs, and then made his way to the front of the van where he crawled into the passenger seat, kicking his pack away from his feet. He heard the drivers’ door open shortly and glanced over just long enough to catch Locus’s eye - then he was staring out the window.

Locus started the van without saying anything.

So Felix slid a CD into the radio without saying anything either, and when the music started, he turned the volume up high. It was an upbeat mess from the ‘60s, the ‘70s, one of those. Good enough to serve as a distraction, something to listen to while he stared out the window and ignored Locus. He thought that, maybe, the music would make a silent car ride less awkward.

It didn’t though. Only took a few minutes for Felix to be shifting restlessly in his seat, slamming his feet on the dashboard only to drop them back to the floor seconds later. He glanced from Locus to the snow-coated world outside, frowning when Locus never bothered to take his eyes off the road. It felt like they were moving so slowly, even though a quick glance told him their speed was edging over fifty now. There was some kind of tension in the air, something between them, and it was making Felix’s heart race.

He refused to address it, refused to even acknowledge what it was. For all he knew, he was imagining it.

After twenty minutes, he said, “How long do think it’ll take us to get to Kimball’s?”

Locus paused. He reached over to turn the volume down, saying, “With the group we’re leading, how many of them there are and how long it took to get them all ready…”

Felix glanced outside again, at the sky. At how the sun was already dipping down toward the horizon. He frowned.

“We’re going to have to stop for the night,” Locus finished. “I’m not sure where or when, but there is a very slim chance we’ll get to her camp before nightfall.”

He didn’t say anything to that and Locus didn’t prompt him for any more conversation. The silence was overbearing, pressing on his shoulders, and Felix retreated into the back of the van to busy himself with finding food. Once he was far enough away that glancing over at Locus’s face wasn’t going to happen, he asked if Locus wanted anything. Got a noise in return that probably meant yes, and then Felix was sitting back down with fruit and jerky. The weirdest combination of food ever, he was sure. Especially after so many days of actual cooked meat and veggies. The jerky was fresh, made the day before and packed away by Locus while Felix had paced around outside the van and rambled about leaving. Goddamn, he had been so amped to get out of that place and now that they were finally leaving, he couldn’t focus on anything but motherfucking Locus.

Like Locus was so important that he required all of Felix’s attention. Like he meant something.

Which was obviously such bullshit that Felix spent almost an hour agonizing over it. His legs were twitching, moving restlessly, and he kept throwing glances over at Locus every few minutes. Kept telling himself that they were partners and nothing else. Sure, he spent a lot of time at Locus’s apartment. Didn’t mean anything. Neither did the fact that he always seemed to fall back on Locus, always retreated back to him. After every job and every trip he took, alone or with this asshole, Felix would go to Locus before anyone else - for sex, food, sometimes just to be near someone.

And he had fallen into this pattern for the better part of five years.

Maybe more.

Goddamn, he had fallen into something he didn’t want. With Locus of all people.

Naturally, his impulse at this was to say something. “Hey, Locus.”

Locus flicked his eyes to Felix briefly. He made a noise for him to continue, said nothing.

“When did ...How long have we been… together…?” Jesus Christ, he wanted to punch himself in the face. Preferably until he passed out. He really hoped it wasn’t obvious how nervous just asking that had made him - but then Locus turned his head to look at him and his brows were furrowed. “Y’know what, never mind.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Locus asked. 

“I’m fine,” he said. He had torn his gaze from Locus, staring out the windshield in front of him. The sun was touching the horizon now - great time to bring this up, really. Couldn’t wait until daylight, had to be hours before he would have to sleep close to the jackass. “Just wondering when you tricked me into this relationship is all.”

Absolutely the best way to phrase that.

There was the slightest pause before Locus said, “...What?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you actually serious about this?”

He was starting to regret this conversation already. “Depends. How long have we been together? How long has it been since our partnership didn’t just mean _business_ partners?” Couldn’t stop talking though, nah, never. Always had to make shit worse. “What, has it been the entire five years? Jesus Christ - oh, it never even occurred to you to tell me, did it? Just let me think we were nothing - “

“I told you,” Locus interrupted. He was loud enough to make Felix stop completely, to have Felix looking at him again. “Numerous times. This is nothing that you don’t want it to be.”

“Bullshit. It’s a relationship - or close to one at least.”

And for five years? Goddamn, how the fuck did he miss this?

Locus sighed, and Felix felt his heart racing again. This really was not the best thing to talk about right now, but if it was a relationship, then… Well, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do, actually. Couldn’t exactly pack up and leave when they weren’t finished with this yet.

Locus said, “I’m not going to have this conversation if you aren’t going to listen.”

“I am listening!”

“No. You’re ignoring what I say, or you’re twisting every word I say, and I’m not going to do this now.”

They both fell silent. Felix heard the radio going, that CD from Donut still playing, or replaying by now. Whatever. His heart was still racing, hands clenched on the seat. Eventually, he said, “Look, just - tell me how long we’ve been together.”

“Felix.”

“Seriously, come on. Tell me.“

“Do you really want to have this conversation?”

He paused. “I don’t know. Kind of?" When he glanced over at him, Locus’s eyes were dark, focused on him. He couldn’t read a single thing from that look and for some reason, that bothered him. “Everything with you is supposed to be easy, but now it’s not and … I don’t know.” This whole thing was starting to get way too serious. He really wished he had never brought it up - and, honestly, the manic need he’d had to know what was between them was fading. He wondered if all he would have had to do was wait instead of talking, or if talking was what eased it off a bit.

Then Locus said, quietly, “I can’t let you go off alone, Felix. Not while we’re out here.”

It meant something that he had picked up on that, 'cause Felix had made damn sure not to mention how badly he wanted to run off somewhere. But if they had been together so long, then why wouldn't he have picked up on the signs that Felix was about to vanish for months? 

“I can give you distance, in a way,” Locus continued. “If that’s what you want from me.”

“Jesus shit, man, the fuck am I supposed to say to that?” Felix was still looking at Locus, at the way his mouth was set and the look in his eyes and how goddamn impossible it was for him to see through that stupid brick wall the guy had thrown up so quickly. He groped for the door’s handle without looking, fingers skating over the door. He hadn’t pulled his gloves on and he realized they were in the pack at his feet the exact instant he said, “I don’t know what I want from you. I don’t even know why we’re talking about this.”

Locus glanced at him again.

Felix pulled the door open. It swung open and Locus slammed on the brakes. As he turned, Locus called after him - but he was already out, hitting the snow and rolling back to his feet. Holy shit, it was colder than he had thought.

Jumping out of a moving van, he thought, was probably not the best way to end that conversation. But it had been getting way too serious. He still wasn’t sure if he was in a relationship or not, and Locus was saying things that sounded like he actually cared, and -

There was a bike speeding toward him, a bike that screeched to a halt in front of him as he jumped back. Snow pelted the front of his jacket and pants. Fuck. He had forgotten that the others were following them, that he wasn’t alone with Locus in their van. Texas didn’t pull off the helmet she wore, just said, “What the fuck are you doing!?” with so much ferocity that he actually took a step back.

He heard a door slam behind him. From the van. “...Fuck.”

“Are you a fucking moron?” Tex snarled. “You got a good reason for that shit or what?’

“Looks like we’re stopping here for the night,” Felix said, the typical grin shooting across his face. “Find somewhere to make a camp, I think I’ll go see if I can’t find something fresh to kill, goodbye.” He moved past her as fast as he could, listening to Locus calling after him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other cars stopping. There were people springing out of them, heads turning in his direction.

Great. He had put on a show without meaning to.

The fact that he broke into a run seconds later did nothing to help that fact. Neither did the fact that Locus was after him - he glanced back once, saw Locus on his heels, and sped up. Snow made it difficult, tried to pull him back down, but he dived into the sparse trees that lined the road, grasping at their branches to pull himself forward.

He had no idea where he was going, just had to get away. He was trying to get away from Locus, though, and that asshole was right after him. What a pain in the ass.

Hadn’t even been two minutes before he was tackled into the snow. Locus’s weight was a pressure around his legs, his hands gripping at Felix’s thighs, moving toward his waist. Felix twisted around, kicking out and hearing Locus grunt when the hit landed. He didn’t bother to see where he had hit, just kept moving forward. It really made no sense but he only had one idea: Get away. Find somewhere quiet. Somewhere he could think. It had worked back at the outpost, when he had hidden away in small rooms around the place, given himself time to work out his whirlwind thoughts. But out here there was nothing. There was snow, there was trees, and there was Locus pulling him back down into the snow.

Felix growled, face in the snow, cold biting over his face and his bare hands. He twisted again, kicking out with both feet to try and get Locus away from him. Both feet landed hard in Locus’s stomach, and Locus ignored it. His face twisted and he grunted, but all he did was grasp Felix’s legs and force them away. So Felix lashed out again, kicked at Locus’s face. It hit with a thud and he smirked, wrestling away as Locus pressed a hand to his face. He didn’t get a few feet before Locus was reaching for him again, hands seizing Felix by the jacket. In seconds, Locus had settled over him, a pressure at his waist and his hips.

“Get off,” Felix spat. He pushed at Locus’s shoulders, trying to dig into his skin through the jacket.

Locus pulled his hands away, pinned them over his head. He was hovering over Felix, so close - too close - and Felix squirmed underneath him. “Listen to me,” he said lowly.

Felix wrenched one hand loose and swung a fist at Locus.

In response, Locus punched him in his stomach. Hard enough to make him wheeze and wince. He still tried to force Locus off, tried to jab a thumb over the asshole’s trachea - but then Locus slapped him. In the second after, when he felt the sting in his cheek and started to curse, Locus had punched him right in the side of his face.

“Stop hitting me! You fucking jackass!” Felix was breathing harder than he needed to be right now, a lot harder than a few hits from Locus deserved. He twisted his face up with the pain, hand at Locus’s throat holding on loosely.

In the dark that was settling around them, Locus’s eyes shone and Felix felt something twisting in his guts just by looking at them.

Locus repeated himself - “Listen to me.” He still held one of Felix’s hands over his head, gloved fingers rough over the bare skin. “Stop freaking out. Stop running. Just listen.”

Felix bucked his hips up, a pathetic attempt to push Locus off. All that happened was sparks lighting where this hips ground against Locus. He groaned, feeling the rush of arousal starting. “Get off me,” he spat.

“I am nothing to you that you don’t want me to be,” Locus continued. He ignored Felix twisting under him, ignored the faces he made. “We are nothing that you aren’t comfortable with. You don’t want this to be serious - fine, it isn’t.”

“Shut up.”

Ignored. Of course. Locus’s fingers were squeezing his wrist. “I don’t know how you managed to go five years without understanding this, but it _is_ a relationship.”

Felix groaned, rolling his hips against Locus without thinking. He got a spike of pleasure for his effort and muttered, “Oh, God…” It was half about the shit Locus was spouting, half about how quickly he was getting hard lying underneath this fucker.

“Whether it’s a partnership” -he paused to push his hips against Felix’s and the answering gasp wasn’t missed by him- “or something else… It’s a relationship.”

“Please shut up…” Felix said quietly. His face was hot even in the cold.

“I have told you this before and evidently you have forgotten it,” Locus was saying. “I’m not forcing you into anything. You are free to leave whenever you wish - but right now, you can’t. You leave me while we’re out here, and you might die.”

“Shut up.” Felix wrestled his other hand out of Locus’s grip, holding onto the other man’s shoulders. He didn’t fight him, just ground his hips up and enjoyed the friction. What little he got from it, anyway. But then Locus’s hips were lifting away from him, moving and Felix looked down to watch Locus snapping his belt loose as he slid down between Felix’s legs. “You’re not my boyfriend,” he said quietly.

Locus was easing his cock out through the slit in the boxers. “I know,” he said.

His hands were rough - those fucking gloves, Felix thought, were not made for touching dicks - and Felix kicked a leg up over one of his shoulders. Snow fell from his boot, scattering over Locus’s back. The cold air was fucking awful on his cock, worse than the fabric of the glove. He said, “What am I to you?” with his eyes screwed shut.

The only answer he got was a hum, and then Locus’s mouth sliding over the length of his cock. Locus was good, his mouth warm, pulling noises and pleased groans from Felix. He tangled a hand in Locus’s hair, head falling back into the snow. One of Locus’s hands was holding onto his hip, the other crawling up his stomach underneath the jacket. Somehow, he still found the need to say, “This is not a fucking answer.”

There was a noise to their right and Felix opened his eyes slowly. Against the dark of the trees and the white of the snow, he could make out one slow, shambling form. He shifted, pressing into Locus’s mouth as he slid one of the knives from his belt. Right side, right arm, wounded shoulder. He could do this.

Locus started to pull up, and Felix gripped his hair tighter. “Nah, don’t stop. It’s only one. I got this.” He spun the knife before throwing it and grunted at the twinge in his shoulder. He watched the blade drive into the zombie’s skull, watched it fell, and brought his other hand to Locus’s head. “Told you. Got it.”

Locus hummed a response and Felix felt it vibrate over his cock.

And then, seconds before he would have come, Locus was pushing his hands away, lifting off of him. Felix whimpered, trying to pull him back down. “Holy goddamn, Locus, what the fuck?” he whined. “It’s - the cold, man, _why?”_

“Stop talking,” Locus said quietly. He was getting to his feet next to Felix, sliding the gun from his side.

Felix rolled his eyes, turning over onto his knees in the snow. He braced one hand in the ground, wincing at the cold, and wrapped the other around his cock. Stroked roughly, quickly, until he came over his fingers. It only took seconds for him to put himself away and redo his pants. He slid his hand along the snow-covered parts of his pants before he stood - maybe all the snow there would disguise the cum stains too. When he stood beside Locus, it was very obvious why he had stopped.

Four people, standing several feet away. All in black suits, all of them watching them. Felix cursed his breath, pulling the gun from his side. Forced himself to focus.

Locus said, “What do you want?” and Felix realized that he hadn’t ever really told Locus the whole story. He hadn’t actually gone into detail about all those traitors from Control.

Shit.

One of the guys said, “Looks like he found his partner,” in a loud, carrying tone.

Another said, “Yeah. ‘Partner’ alright.”

Then a girl, “More like his boyfriend. Blowjobs in the snow, really, guys?”

Locus was shifting beside him, and Felix was sure he was uncertain about what the hell was going on. Felix eased in front of him, gun raised. “Never gotten blown by your partners?” he said conversationally. “Or, well.. any oral sex, I suppose. It’s basically the same thing. Real nice.”

“What are you doing?” Locus said to him.

“Talking. The fuck does it look like?” he hissed back. One of the guys moved and he focused the gun on them, trying to keep all four of them in his field of vision. “Just… pick one and shoot. Trust me, these assholes are not on our side.”

The last one that spoke was the only one that was familiar to him. The same fucking guy that showed up every other time. Fuckin’ Xavier, the one that was always like three seconds from pulling Felix off to that dickbag Wyoming. He said, “We’re not here to hurt you, Felix. We’re here to talk.”

“Y’know what,” Felix said loudly. “Locus - babe, honey. Light of my life. Please shoot him. I hate him.”

Locus’s gun was pointed in Xavier’s direction in an instant. No questions asked. “You’re going to explain this,” he said quietly. And Felix agreed to, absolutely, just shoot the guy in the face. It didn’t matter now what bullshit he had gotten himself into with Locus, didn’t matter about the whole relationship business. All that mattered was that these assholes had actually approached them together.

And goddamn, there wasn’t anyone that he and Locus couldn’t massacre together. What a great way to end a bullshit day.


	16. defenses are down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna be going on a hiatus for a bit. 
> 
> read. enjoy. leave comments. <3s

It wasn’t going to be a standoff, or a fancy gun show, or barely even a fight. There were four of them and between Felix and Locus, all four would be dead in under a minute. That was what Felix thought and what he stuck to even with that Xavier fuck telling him not to shoot, don’t fight, all they wanted to do was talk and it’d be over. Bullshit. Last time he talked with them, his life had been threatened - Locus’s life had been threatened. But, yeah, sure, okay. Felix was gonna talk.

Felix fired at the man beside Xavier at the same time that Locus fired his own gun. The man Felix had fired on dropped his gun as the bullet tore through his fingers. As for Locus… he had fired on the woman, bullet straight through her throat.

Not that Xavier fuck. Just some girl.

“Locus, what the fuck?” he said flatly. His ears were still ringing from the gunshots - but, seriously, what the hell was that? “I said shoot _him_ ” -he gestured with the pistol to where Xavier had drawn his own gun- “Not _her.”_

All Locus said was, _“_ _Focus_ _,_ Felix.”

As if he needed to be told that. The three in front of them were moving, guns out, aimed toward them. The one with the bleeding fingers, Felix figured he was the least threatening. With Locus here to depend on, Felix could focus all of his attention on one of the other two and not have to worry. It was so easy - so nice to have that back, to know that nothing could get to him with Locus there. He charged Xavier, trusting Locus to stop the other two. When Xavier raised his gun, Felix dropped and rolled to avoid the bullets.

Behind him, a man was cursing and someone was firing. Hopefully Locus. Probably Locus.

Xavier was aiming his gun when Felix launched himself forward. He hit Xavier at the waist, throwing the other man backward, hearing the breath leave his lungs as he hit the ground. Before the little fuck had time to react, Felix jammed the barrel of his gun into Xavier’s throat, pressing down hard. And just like that, the kid was frozen beneath him. Still a pathetic little weakling, Felix thought, just like he had been back the first time he ran into the guy at that gas station.

Weak and a coward.

Someone he should kill fast, someone who wasn’t worth the effort that came from the drawn out kills. Still… There was that itch lingering in the back of his head. The ideas he had had back at the outpost before they had left came flooding back and Felix found himself reaching for the knife at his side without thinking of it. He said, “Drop the gun, kid,” as he pulled the knife loose.

Xavier complied instantly, dropping the gun into the snow and raising his hands palm up. The helmet that he wore obscured his eyes and made it impossible to see what he was looking at. “Okay, okay. You got me. You killed everyone else. Can we talk now?”

Felix paused. He heard snow crunching behind him and tensed just slightly. It was stupid - he had just said that everyone was dead, but Felix still waited for a gun to go off, to hear one last ringing blast before he died.

All he got was Locus saying, “Kill him, Felix. The gunfire will have alerted the others. We don’t have time for this.”

Felix said, “No, no. See, he wants to talk.” He switched the gun with the knife, pressing the blade against the weak point in Xavier’s armor, right against his throat. “So I think we should ask him a few questions.”

“Felix…”

Ask a few questions, then slice him to pieces. Wouldn’t be as much fun as disemboweling Wash or Tex, but… still enjoyable. Still better than doing nothing at all.

“I’m not here to answer questions - “ Xavier started. The knife pushing against his throat made him stop short.

“We can start,” Felix said casually, “with why the fuck someone shot me a couple weeks ago. I’m sure you know, so don’t even try to say you don’t.” The wound in question felt fine right now. Not firing a gun probably helped with that; the recoil always made the damn thing twinge. “I’d like a name too so I can personally pull out their intestines.”

“I… I don’t - “

“Ohh, wrong answer.” He eased the knife forward just enough for the blade to pierce through the fabric covering Xavier’s neck. “I’ll give you more chance, and if the answer is unsatisfactory, well… I’ll just have some fun until you get boring.” He was going to pull this annoying fuck to pieces regardless of the answer.

Except there was the small problem of Locus. He said, “Wrap it up,” in that tone of voice that meant Felix was treading on thin ice. Frowning, Felix threw a look at Locus. He was looking back the way they had come, and Felix followed his gaze to see two forms slowly moving through the snow.

Great.

Gunfire carried, of course it did, and of course they were with nosy assholes who couldn’t mind their own fucking business. Felix snarled.

At the same time he turned his head, Xavier started talking. “I don’t know who shot you,” he said quickly, gaining Felix’s attention again. “It was either Wyoming himself or Mira - she’s our other sniper - but I don’t know, man, really.”

Felix paused. “Delay them,” he said with a sharp nod behind him. He glanced up at Locus, and his frown deepened at the other man’s glare. “What? Give me, like… two minutes, alright? I’m not gonna lose it killing one man. Just go.”

Locus hesitated, glancing between Felix and the man in the snow. “I’ll give you one,” he said before striding off. He could stall for one minute maybe, hopefully not say anything too ridiculous. Whatever he didn’t explain, Felix could certainly lie around.

But this idiot man was the main problem. Had to deal with him.  Had to deal with the fact that knowing who shot him was suddenly the most important fucking thing to Felix. Why he had been shot, why the hell Wyoming was claiming he was going to kill them, why the fuck he thought he could do it.

To Xavier, all he said was, “That’s a rather pitiful answer. Tell me why I was shot in the first place and maybe I won’t pull your eyes out and shove them down your throat.”

“You tried to kill Washington,” Xavier answered. “It’s one of the few rules we had with you guys - you try to kill those people Wyoming’s after, we try to stop you. Do whatever we can that isn’t killing you.”

“What the fuck is so goddamn important about Washington that he needs to be alive?” Felix let up on the knife just barely, the smallest bit. “Also, I killed CT, so you kinda failed there. I guess you can think about that in the few seconds you have left before you die.”

Xavier started to relax where he lay, tension easing away. He lowered his hands back to the snow, not fighting, not doing anything. “Look, Felix, you don’t have to kill me. I’m not going to attack you - no one was supposed to attack you. I’m only here to talk to you.”

“Yeah, see, the thing about that is… I don’t care.”

“We were here to escort you,” Xavier continued as if Felix hadn’t even spoken. “All we were supposed to do was take you to Kimball’s, let you meet Wyoming, and make a plan together.”

“With the man who wants to kill us. Right, of course. How could I let such a golden opportunity slip away?” He could have said more - would have said more, but someone was calling for him. Someone who was very distinctly not Locus and quite obviously a really, really angry Tex. And an angry Tex was likely to ask questions and demand answers, and probably hit him a bit if he didn’t answer properly.

Which was exactly why Felix chose then to shove the knife forward, push it past the cloth and right into Xavier’s neck. The guy made choking sounds as he died and Felix relished every single one of them. It wasn’t enough by a long shot to sate the need, barely even a scratch, but it’d have to do. He rose then, wiping the knife off on his pants, and turned.

Texas was walking to him quickly, head turning from the dead to Felix. She still wore her helmet, nice and obscured. Really, he was starting to get tired of these people and their damn helmets; he liked to know where people were looking. Tex’s head turned back to him and he wanted to guess she was looking at the dead man he still stood over. “What the fuck happened out here?” she said. “Locus only said you guys ran into trouble. Do you want to say why there are four dead people?”

Felix paused, considered things, and nodded. “We ran into trouble, like he said. These assholes have been following us, just decided to show themselves. You should think us, really. There’s no telling what they could have done.” He slid the knife back into its spot and started to walk past her before he stopped. There was a zombie lying a few feet away with a blade sticking out of its head, and Felix headed over there instead.

“Following us,” Tex repeated. “How the hell do you know that?”

“He told me.” He gestured toward Xavier with one hand as he knelt by the zombie to wrench the knife out and clean the blade on the zombie’s ragged clothing. “Right before I stabbed him in the throat. And before you ask - yeah, I had to kill him. These people are bad news.”

That wasn’t good enough for her, no, not by a long shot. He ended up standing out there with her, surrounded by the dead, watching her walk around. She shot the ones in the head that he and Locus hadn’t - Xavier and one other. Felix weaved a story that was partially lies, one telling of how these four people were part of a larger group that had been following him since they had gotten separated all those weeks ago. These people, he said, wanted to kill them all, but before they did that, they wanted to work with him and Locus. For further fun, he added in that they wanted to kill Tex and Wash, and all the others, that they had turned guns on him and Locus and fired first. That if he and Locus hadn’t been there to stop it, they might have all died in their sleep that very night.

It was the perfect mix of falsehood and reality, and Tex bought it instantly.

And he expected then that he could leave, go find Locus at the camp - he assumed he was at their makeshift camp, just like he was assuming there was even a camp to go back to. But then Tex said, “No, hell no. You said you were going to find us food. I don’t give a fuck what bullshit you were covering up with that excuse, you’re gonna find us something fresh to eat and you’re gonna do it now.”

Twenty minutes.

It took Felix twenty minutes to find a fucking elk to shoot, and another ten to drag the thing back. It wasn’t that big, just an average sized elk that had, luckily, been uninfected. If he had found an infected one, he would have given the whole thing up as complete bullshit. He dragged it by the antlers, wishing he had remembered his gloves now more than ever, and by the time he dropped the damn thing in front of Tex, it was dark as hell and his fingers were freezing. Face too, actually. Fucking cold everywhere.

He didn’t even spare the others a look, just headed straight for the van and pulled a back door open. It wasn’t until he was in there, in the heat and the light, rubbing his hands together - that was when he remembered the awkward note he and Locus had been left on.

That stupid, far-delayed realization that he was in a relationship.

Locus was sitting on one of their food crates, slowly putting a gun back together. Looked like he just wanted something to do to pass the time. His jacket hung over the back of his chair, his boots between the seats. He didn’t look up when Felix entered, nor when he had closed the door, not even while Felix pulled his own jacket off and tossed it over the bike’s seat. But Felix looked at him. Quick glances to rake his eyes over Locus’s face while he undid his belt. A longer look after he had thrown the belt over his jacket, gun and knives still attached. He knelt there, feeling the discomfort of the position aching in his ankles, and looked over the muscles in Locus’s arms while he worked on the gun. He stared outright after a while, just taking in everything about him.

It didn’t take long for him to feel uncomfortable, some kind of pressure settling in his chest, and nerves taking flight. It was stupid, so stupid. Locus was his partner for fucks’ sake, in whatever way that word was meant now. It felt like the hundredth time he had told himself not to get so caught up on Locus. Didn’t help now anymore than it had the first time.

Such an unneeded hassle that Felix found himself crawling across the space between them and snatching the gun out of Locus’s hands. That got Locus’s attention instantly, eyes snapping to Felix as he frowned. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Felix shrugged, wanting to look away from Locus but staring into his eyes instead. “...Acting on instinct?” he said weakly.

Because of where he sat, and Felix still sitting on his knees, Locus was staring down at him. At least he had turned his head down instead of just gazing down his nose. “Your instinct is to take my gun away?”

“Apparently.” He frowned. “Look, I never said it was a good instinct.”

He wanted Locus’s attention but he wasn’t going to say that at all. Ever.

Locus sighed, leaning back. And there it was, time to stare down at Felix as he tilted his head back. In the moment of silence, Felix shifted forward, resting his arms across Locus’s legs and propping his head up in his hands. After a moment, Locus brought a hand up, carding it through Felix’s hair and scraping across his scalp. Felix dutifully ignored how damn good it felt, both the motion and the attention.

From now on, he figured he’d try to go back to only enjoying the sex and the brutal kisses. It was easier that way. Might take some work, but…

Locus said, “Do you want something, or are you going to stay in the way the entire evening?”

His next words, he didn’t plan. They went against exactly what he had just told himself, and just spilled out. “I just don’t want things to be different with us.” He watched the flicker of surprise in Locus’s eyes, felt his heart speed up, and still couldn’t stop himself. “Like all the usual shit, I want that but I don’t want it to be different or ...or even to remind me of the … relationship. I just want it.” He paused, leaning away from Locus and finally glancing away from him. There was heat rising in his face for some reason.

Locus wasn’t talking, and Felix could feel the man’s eyes on him.

He bit his lip for a second before speaking again, quietly. “I want you. And I want us to be normal.”

“Felix - “

“You had to mention a goddamn relationship,” he sighed. “And now things are weird…”

Locus’s hands on his face was a surprise, shutting him up at the same time that his eyes locked back onto this stupid attractive man. Always looked better than he should. He said, “It hasn’t even been an hour, Felix. I don’t expect you to be fine with it. Stop worrying about it.”

Felix frowned. His nerves were actually flying in his gut, he was sure. Made it feel like something was swelling up inside of him and Locus tracing over his cheekbones wasn’t helping at all. His fingers left burning trails over his skin. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna,” he muttered. “Couldn’t have waited until this was over and I could get away from you…”

Locus’s fingers paused for a second, stilling on his skin. His eyes narrowed, something flicking through his face before he sighed. “It shouldn’t be too much longer,” he said. He tilted Felix’s face up as he spoke, fingers light on his jaw. “Then by all means. Ignore me.”

“You’d die,” Felix said instantly.  The corners of his mouth were twitching and he fought against the smile. Locus wouldn’t last two weeks without him there, not after almost a year with so much close contact. Sure, the guy would disappear for a few hours every day to reconnect with people in the city, but he’d want to come home to Felix.

He knew that. Locus knew it. It was just… it was how they worked.

And he wanted it too. Wanted to sit around Locus’s apartment and watch stupid shitty movies on television before Locus came back. They could eat takeout food, go out to fancy restaurants, but Locus would insist on cooking something. And Felix would complain about it, but he’d still eat it and love it and love Locus.

He wanted it all, but he wanted to get far away from Locus.

The thought was always there, festering, nagging, and he was going to give into it the instant they made it back to Portland. For now, though, there was just him, and Locus, and this stifling van.

“Things aren’t going to change,” Locus was saying. “Nothing has to, and trust me, Felix - nothing will.”

This conversation was going nowhere, and it was making Felix think about things he didn’t want to even consider. So he cut Locus off by leaning forward to kiss him. He kissed Locus like it was supposed to be done, with force and power and scraping of teeth against lips. None of that soft, slow bullshit that Locus kept giving up. He kissed Locus like he always had.

It didn’t take long for Locus to respond either, not even a second before he was leaning into it and kissing back with just as much violent force. But where Felix had been pushed by some wild desperation and need, Locus used just the right amount of power and hunger to turn what would have been sloppy into an actual kiss. It was good enough that Felix felt tension releasing that he hadn’t even known had built up. Locus’s hands framed his face, held it still.

When they parted, Felix was breathing hard, eyes barely open. The nerves in his gut had transformed into fire charging through his veins - the swelling pressure in his chest was still there, something that pulsated with each breath and fed off of Locus. Felix’s hands were at Locus’s chest, gripping his shirt. After a moment, he tugged Locus forward to kiss him again.

Just as good as the last. Just as normal as it should be.

Locus pushed him back, hands running from his face to his shoulders. He pushed until Felix gave in and fell to his back, pulling Locus with him. Before either of them could move, Felix said, “Nothing’s changed, right? Nothing’s gonna change at all?”

The answer was a hum from Locus and a sharp bite behind one of his ears. Goddamn, if Locus didn’t slow down, Felix was going to a mess soon.

“Fuck me,” Felix said, eyes sliding closed. He slid his hands around Locus, underneath his shirt and up his back. There were scars there that he could barely feel, but could trace out just from memory. “Fuck me hard, like usual. Make me scream.”

Locus didn’t answer just yet, too busy biting and sucking along Felix’s neck, along the fading mottled bruises that were already there. His hands were creeping under Felix’s shirt, and though he was situated between Felix’s thighs, he kept himself far enough away that Felix wouldn’t buck against him. They touched where Felix’s knees rose to either side of him, where wandering hands squeezed, and where Locus was kissing up his jawline.

“C’mon, Locus,” Felix breathed. The slightest throb of arousal was starting and there was no way in hell he was going to let Locus drag this out more than it needed to be. “No teasing. Just fuck me.” _Show me nothing’s changed_ , he thought.

Locus rose from him, hands moving away from Felix as he leaned back. “Alright,” he said. “But it’ll be on my terms.”

“Your terms…?”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything else. Just lowered one hand to palm at Felix’s crotch, smirking as he felt Felix hardening at his touch. That fucking smirk was good, Felix knew. That look was more of what he expected from Locus - the arrogance, the sense that Locus was in control and in power - and somehow that was a rush to him as well. Maybe it was because Locus was giving him exactly what he had asked for: their usual sex, the rough, dirty fucks that had been thrown aside lately.

This felt more normal, relaxed him even when Locus ordered him not to move. He watched Locus shift, shuffling through their things to find lube or condoms, and the wildest grin spread over his face. Something about this actually made him pretty fucking happy. Watching Locus prepare and knowing that he had slipped into this dominating role so soon after all that serious talk - that he had done this just for Felix - it just made the pressure in his chest build until Felix felt like he was going to break something.

He raised his hands to run over his face, through his hair, laughing quietly. He could understand getting excited about this, but this was damn near elation and it didn’t make sense.

Locus was back before he could think on it anymore, holding up a piece of cloth. He glanced over Felix, then reached forward to pull at his hands, forcing him to sit up. Locus kissed him, light and soft and out of place with everything else; Felix sighed into it anyway. When he pulled away, Locus was resting his forehead against Felix’s. “First,” he said quietly, “I’m going to gag you. You’re… exceptionally vocal with rough sex, and there are people close by.”

Felix started to protest, only for Locus to add, “The van isn’t soundproof, Felix. I’d rather not have someone else hear you.”

“Ugh. Fine. But I’m so tying you up next time.”

“Second: You’re not going to touch yourself.” His fingers were tracing over Felix’s jaw again, rising over his cheeks and then sliding back down his throat.

Felix pushed forward to place a kiss on whatever part of Locus he could reach - his jaw, as it turned out. “Just shut up and do it,” he said. “I get it, you’re in charge. Gag me, fuck me. Let’s do this.”

He said Locus was in charge, but seeing Locus listening to him so readily meant the opposite. This was Felix’s decision, Felix’s idea, and Felix was in control. He was gagged swiftly, cloth tied securely, and when Locus turned him onto his stomach, Felix was smiling. He could give Locus the illusion of control and obey the ‘don’t touch yourself’ rule. The fire inside him demanded it anyway, yearned for Locus to touch him and fuck him and make him so satisfied he couldn’t even move.

Felix let Locus push his head into the floor, feeling the other man pressing against his hips. Locus wasn’t as hard as he was, but it was there, and Felix rubbed against it. Earned himself a hand twisting in his hair, a quick rock of Locus’s hips against his. He felt just a little ridiculous - head down, ass in the air - but he could deal with it. The cold metal floor pressed into the bruises already flowering from Locus’s fists earlier and he braced himself for the inevitable. For the metal to rub against his new bruises and make the pain worse.

Locus pulled his hand from Felix’s hair, and undid Felix’s pants quickly, deftly. He yanked them down so hard Felix expected to hear the fabric rip. Locus shoved them down past his knees and he felt the ends of the pant legs catch on his boots. He had a moment to think that he wasn’t a fan of being fucked when his boots were still on and then Locus slid a finger in his ass. He laid there, silent, with his face pressed into metal, feeling Locus slide a finger in deeper. He didn’t move until the second finger was added and both were moving and twisting and stretching him. He moved when Locus pressed against the right spot, rocking back against Locus’s fingers and whining into the gag.

Locus didn’t do anything but squeeze Felix’s hip and push another finger in. Felix rocked his hips back again, trying to find some kind of rhythm with the fingers inside him. The hand on his hip was guiding him, pulling him back, and Felix found a rhythm with Locus’s help, rolling into it and feeling the heat pooling in his gut. He felt his cock twitch, aching for release, and shifted. Whined again into the gag and tried to think of some way to get Locus’s attention.

Not that he needed to - Locus reached down to stroke his cock seconds later, moving fast. He slid his thumb over the head of Felix’s cock and Felix squeezed his eyes shut, trying to lose himself in it. Tried to ignore the fact that the pleasure was mixed with that unwavering elation from earlier. Apparently, Locus getting him off wasn’t enough to stomp it into dust. Only made it worse, made Felix wish he could twist around and pull Locus in for another kiss.

Felix came with a noise that was absorbed by the cloth. From his current angle, he didn’t see his cum splatter on the van’s floor but he knew it was there. He thought that, maybe, he’d have a second to rest - because, really, that orgasm had been powerful for reasons he didn’t want to think about.  

Locus was still stroking him though, squeezing and pulling in just the right ways and Felix groaned into the gag again. The fingers in his ass were still moving, albeit slower, still putting pressure on the right spot, moving until Felix was hard again. Heat still burned in his gut, spreading through him and relighting tired nerves. He stared ahead at nothing, brows drawing together because the constant movement felt good but it was blending with what should have been an afterglow. He was still moving in time, spurred by another building orgasm. But then Locus pulled his fingers out, and Felix twisted to look over his shoulder.

Felix watched Locus’s hands flying over his pants, pushing them down just enough to pull himself out and apply enough lube. He pushed in slowly, hands raking up Felix’s back and hiking the shirt up to his shoulders. He didn’t move at first, leaning forward, sliding one arm around Felix and gripping him at the base of his throat. When Locus did move, it was harsh thrusts that finally pushed Felix past to the point that he was lost in the pleasure.

The floor of the van was catching on Felix’s face, on the gag. It pressed into his bruises just as he thought it would, but the pain it caused ended up mixing with the pleasure of Locus fucking him roughly. His hands were skating across the floor, desperate to hold onto something, but there was nothing to grab. Just spare magazines that his fingers shoved away. Felix whined again, muffled just like all of his noises. He was tired, muscles in his legs aching. Only two orgasms and his body wanted to stop when he couldn’t. He rolled against Locus, into the thrusts, feeling Locus hovering over him.

The hand at his throat started to squeeze and Felix thought he was done then. The gag, Locus choking him - he could barely breathe and it was fantastic. He inhaled sharply through his nose, as desperate for air as he was for Locus to fuck him faster. Locus’s weight was pressing into him, his other arm wound around Felix’s waist and held him still, held him up.

After a short while, the grip on his neck loosened so Felix could breathe and the air he pulled in through his nose seared down his throat. Locus’s thrusts were harder, rougher, faster and Felix whined. It was amazing enough to him that he was still on his knees, that he hadn’t collapsed yet because he was exhausted. Hadn’t even reached another climax, but he was done, all of his energy spent. He didn’t move in Locus’s grasp beyond slamming their hips together and even that was taking a lot of effort.

Locus scratched down his chest, over the base of throat, before raking his nails down and grasping Felix’s cock. He bit down on Felix’s neck while he stroked, so much force in the bite that Felix wouldn’t be surprised if he drew blood. Locus spoke lowly, Spanish, and Felix had no idea what it meant but he liked hearing it spoken so softly when Locus was moving so roughly. When he finally came again, it was with a low noise that was swallowed by the gag, to Locus pounding into him and biting lightly at the piercings in his ear. He stayed there until Locus finished inside of him, suddenly so tired that he felt weak, like his arms were shaking.

They stayed like that for a while, Felix feeling Locus’s breath hot against his neck. The fire inside of him had dimmed to a low warmth, the elation had merged with that last orgasm, and Felix was so completely satisfied that he wouldn’t care if Locus left him lying on the van floor.  

But then Locus pulled out, pulled away, and took Felix with him. He moved slowly, shuffling backwards, and only stopped when he was resting against the wall of the van. He shifted so that he was holding Felix in his arms. A deep pleasure thrummed through Felix’s entire body, breathing rough and wheezing out around the gag. Locus moved around him, gripping the pants that tangled around his feet and pulling them up again before reaching up to tug the gag out of Felix’s mouth. He untied it, dropping it beside them and kissing the corner of Felix’s mouth softly.

“Face hurts,” Felix muttered quietly, drawing in deep breaths. He was going to fall asleep like this, in Locus’s arms. He could already tell.

Locus touched his jaw carefully, moving his head up. He considered the bruises that were barely there and then kissed lightly there too. Felix hissed. “You’ll be fine,” Locus said. His voice was smooth and Felix found himself agreeing silently when he said, “Relax. Sleep.”

Felix leaned into Locus, against the broad chest at his back. Warmth spread from everywhere Locus pressed against him - which, in this case, was his entire back, his hips, so many places… It was relaxing, soothing. He turned his head toward Locus, searching for more contact, trying to bury his face into Locus’s neck like he had done so many times before. It was impossible to do and he settled for turning his body a fraction of an inch. He heard Locus sigh, felt the arms around his waist shift and tighten, but he was already falling asleep. He slept through Locus setting him back down, only muttered nonsense when Locus tugged his boots off and pulled him underneath blankets. He woke once during the night to squirm out of Locus’s arms and yank his shirt off. He fell asleep again curled up next to Locus, soaking up heat and snoring.

Felix woke warm, inches away from Locus. For once, Locus wasn’t touching him, and he thought that maybe he had managed to wake first. Until he opened his eyes to Locus watching him and frowned. “Don’t watch me sleep,” he mumbled. “it’s creepy.”

He expected Locus to reach out and touch him then, light caresses down his face and his neck, warm hand running down his arm. All Locus did was smile. He lifted himself up on his elbows then, throwing back the blankets from both of them. “Get up,” he said quietly. “You’ve slept enough.”

Felix sighed, not moving. In the half-asleep state he was in, he was annoyed that Locus hadn’t reached for him. He wanted to feel those warm hands moving over his body like he had woken up to at the outpost. Ridiculous. He sat up slowly, moved to get dressed slowly, and worked on stomping that right the fuck out. No more of wanting to be held by Locus or touched so casually in such tender ways. Never again.

He spent over an hour with the gnawing feeling that he was supposed to have told Locus something instead of having sex. Something that had been important. Something that he had forgotten. It didn’t come to him for a while. Not until after he had woken up with what had to be the world’s worst hunger pangs. After breakfast that consisted of fruit, jerky, and whatever was left of the elk he had killed yesterday.

He was sitting there, looking at the two of them and how tired they looked. Church was grumbling curses, Tucker was yawning, and it dawned on Felix that everyone else seemed to be in pretty much the same mood.

Tired and angry.

Felix said, “You guys look happy. Have a bad night?”

Church shot him a glare, chewing on a piece of elk. “Yeah, fuck off,” he growled. “Not everyone has a nice van to sleep in. Had to sleep in a goddamn car with a bunch of fuckin’ idiots - and the dog. That fucking dog.” He muttered more curses, damning Caboose’s dog. “Can’t believe we let him take that thing with us. Should have left it at the side of the road somewhere.”

“It wouldn’t have been that bad if you would shut the fuck up,” Tucker said. “Every five minutes, he had to complain about something. I thought Wash was going to shoot him in the face.”

“Fuck Wash, and fuck you too,” Church answered.

Tucker flipped the hood of his jacket up, yawning. Whatever he had eaten for breakfast was long gone. The only sign that he had eaten at all was an apple core half buried in the snow by his feet. “At least you got the front seat. I woke up with Caboose and his fucking dog lying on me. Thought I was gonna be crushed.”

Felix left them to their moaning and groaning, flitting around the temporary campsite and bothering the others. None of them had anything interesting to say - hell, they weren’t even doing anything interesting. All of them either complained about a bad nights sleep or looked tired. Except for Grif. He just complained about the lack of food and how he had woken up with Simmons sleeping against him. It was uncomfortable, he complained, and apparently Simmons was heavy.

The look that Simmons gave him probably could bored holes into Grif’s head. “ _I’m_ heavy? You weigh twice as much as I do!” he said.

“Bony ass elbows in my stomach,” Grif continued. He ignored Simmons’ sputtering beside him and just reached for more food.

Yeah, he wasn’t sticking around to listen to that either.

He walked around the entire campsite just to do something. That nagging thought that he had forgotten something was back again, demanding his attention, but he couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was. He passed by Sarge and Lopez where they stood at the old military jeep they owned; he avoided the kids too, beyond making a rude face at Jensen when she looked at him. That stupid dog nearly tripped him, running from one end of the camp to where Caboose was standing with Donut and Doc - Felix had spoken with them earlier, before Caboose had showed up. All he had gotten from that was Doc telling him not to curse so much and Donut asking if he was enjoying their trip so far.

Useless, all of them.

He was positive by this point that he was just feeling them out one more time. Just one final time before he and Locus could kill them. He still wanted to be the one to put the bullet between Donut’s eyes.

And then there was Tex, standing at her bike. She looked at him fiercely and said, “Shouldn’t you and your not-boyfriend be getting ready?”

Right. Kimball’s.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’. Thought I’d check out how everyone was feeling this morning.” He shrugged, pulling at the end of one of his sleeves and wishing it was longer. Fuckin’ cold was brutal today. “Make sure everyone was doing okay, not suffering too much from the sudden switch to a frozen campsite.”

“Uh huh.”

“....And it’s amusing to see them all so unhappy,” he added. “God, it’s like they’ve never left that damned outpost.”

Tex had a rifle over her shoulder, pistol on her hip. She was ready to fight today. The helmet sitting on her bike gleamed in the light. “Some of them haven’t, Felix. The Reds, at least. They’ve been there for years.”

“Riveting,” he said slowly. “What’s with the weapons…?”

“In case we run into anymore of those fuckers,” she said smoothly. “I’m gonna be ready. And they’re gonna regret choosin’ to follow me and my pack of idiots.”

And there it was. Felix knew now what he had forgotten, what had just disappeared from his mind as he tripped headlong into whatever the fuck he had with Locus. Those people, fuckin’ Xavier and his little legion of fuckwits.

He excused himself from Tex by saying, “I’m gonna go find Locus. Get ready to go, y’know? You… you keep an eye out for more of them.”

He found Locus standing with Wash by the humvee. The entire vehicle had been cleaned out to make room for Church and his noisy friends, weapons divided up between all of them and the extra given to Sarge and his men. It had left Wash with two pistols, one set of blades, and an assault rifle - and damn if he didn’t have all of those strapped to him now. He must be preparing himself to attack anyone else they saw, just like Texas. Fuckin’ paranoid specialists.

Felix joined them and whatever conversation they were having just stopped. He glanced between both of them. “So? What the hell are you doing over here? Having private conversations?”

Locus said nothing. He was wearing that helmet again, perfectly covered from head to toe. To anyone else, he probably looked like he was prepared to fend off whatever came at them, just like Tex and Wash were. Felix, though, assumed that after all those days of staying in that outpost without wearing it, Locus was going to wear that thing just because he could. Because the threat of being attacked and the cold let him get away with covering his face and being protected without anyone asking questions about it. Because if he was on a job, Locus was going to wear that helmet as often as he could.

The only problem with that weird behavior was that Felix had been with the guy for five years and still couldn’t tell what the fuck he was looking at. It was annoying. Like, right now, Locus’s helmet was focused on Wash, but was he looking at Wash? Who fuckin’ knew.

Felix didn’t even acknowledge him - mostly ‘cause Wash was the one who spoke. “Locus was telling me about those people you two encountered in the woods,” he said. “Wasn’t a lot…”

“Yeah, turns out I kind of forgot to elaborate on them,” Felix said, smiling. “You remember those guys with Wyoming? That was them. They were following us, so Locus and I killed them. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

Wash frowned. “Are you saying that those people - that this ‘Control’ - is still following us? How - Why do they keep finding us?”

“There was a tracker on Tex’s bike, for one.”

“What?”

“I threw it away, don’t worry about it.” Felix was still smiling, nice and easy, direct contrast to Wash and the stress that just seemed to pour off of him. “Relax, sweetheart. I doubt anyone else is going to come pouring out of the trees, alright? And if they do, Locus and I can handle it. Trust me.”

Wash made some irritated noise halfway between agreeing and arguing. “That’s not exactly what’s bothering me, Felix. I’m positive that between you two, myself, and Texas that we can handle whatever happens.”

“Washington,” Locus said. “is worried about how they’ve found us out here.”

Felix shrugged. Because, really, how the fuck was anyone supposed to know that? Maybe if Locus had gotten him a little bit more time with fucking Xavier, then he could have asked that. ...After who hired Wyoming, why someone wants him and Locus dead, what the point of leading those specialists to Kimball’s even was.

There were a lot of unanswered questions, and the more that built up, the more annoyed Felix got by them.  

“I don’t know a fucking thing,” he said. “But, hey, no worries. We’ll take out whatever comes near us.” He was basically repeating himself and Wash didn’t look too thrilled with him. He was also sure that behind that helmet of his, Locus was giving him one hell of an unimpressed look. Like usual. After a moment, he said, “Get ready to go. No point in waiting here, right?”

“...Right,” Wash said. He straightened himself up more, glancing between Felix and Locus. “I’ll just… go get the others.”

Felix watched him go, walking through the snow to Texas and Church. When he looked back at Locus, the helmet was facing him still. Just fucking staring - or at least he thought so. “...What? Got a problem?”

Locus spoke quietly. “Those men were from Control.”

“Yeah. And?”

“We killed Control’s men.”

“Can you get to the point?”

“Why did you have me kill them?”

Felix sighed and gestured toward the van. “I’ll tell you all the details while we’re driving, but the basics is that they were hired to kill us and that’s really all I need to know.” He thought he had told all of this to Locus before - maybe he’d just mentioned that someone was after the two of them. Spending all that time at the outpost avoiding the guy didn’t exactly leave a lot of time to talk to him.

And Felix had been so caught up in liking this asshole that he hadn’t even thought about Wyoming, or the douchebags that had ditched Control to work with him.

Time for a crash course. They hadn’t been in the van a minute before he started talking, relaying the whole thing to Locus. He started with that first meeting, what he could remember of it, ignoring Locus when he said he had already heard this part. From there, he went through the second meeting, about how they had been threatened - something else Locus said he’d already heard, so Felix piled on more details about the people that had found him. The ones he had thought were Control.

He stopped and Locus said nothing, just tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Felix looked at him, eyebrows raised. Even in the van, Locus insisted on wearing that helmet. Probably wouldn’t take it off until they were safely inside Kimball’s camp. “Uh, Locus? Gonna say anything? Or are you just gonna stew in silence?”

“I’m thinking, Felix,” he said dryly. “You should try it sometime. It’s amazing what can happen when you bother to think before speaking.”

“Alright, fuckin’ asshole. Don’t talk to me.”

Locus sighed, something that sounded like a growl through the filter of the helmet. “If you must know, I’m not convinced that we won’t run into more of them.”

Not a surprise at all.

“Did you recognize any others? Besides the one you insisted on talking to.”

Felix shrugged,staring out the window at their surroundings. Sparsely wooded lands as far as he could see. Everything coated in white. Damn, he had hoped they would be at Kimball’s by now. “I can’t recognize every single one of them by voice.”

It’d probably be better if they just rode out the rest of this drive in silence. Which would be fine if silence didn’t instantly cause Felix to feel as if his stomach was turning over. Just kept going back to Locus and a relationship and how he had hardly put up a fight against it. Just - congratulations, here you are, in a five year relationship.

Honestly, the more he thought about it, the dumber he felt. Usually he was quick on these things. Noticed when people were getting way too close to him, way too interested in him, but no, Locus had to be different. What a fucking asshole.

He thought that maybe his habit of running off constantly didn’t help much if he kept coming back. It was a little hard to get away from someone wanting him if he kept returning like an idiot. But then, if he hadn’t noticed it, was it Locus who was interested in him or was it the other way around?

Felix groaned, running a hand over his face and through his hair. “Fuck me…”

He saw Locus’s head twitch in his direction. “I know I said to think, but don’t hurt yourself,” he said.

“Fuck you.” He didn’t look at Locus, refused to look at him. Just kept staring out the window and maybe soon they’d actually be at Kimball’s. He could request a separate room from Locus …and then think about this until he wanted to scream. Exactly how it would go.

Goddammit, they were going to finish this job and he would be free to go wherever he wanted, and he would still end up fretting over this shit. “I hate you so fucking much,” he said, glaring at each tree they passed.

Locus said nothing.

Good. He didn’t want to talk anyway.

They spent the rest of the ride in silence, Felix staring at trees and fidgeting in his seat.

* * * 

Kimball’s was less of a camp and more of a full blown community. It was something that Texas had only ever heard of; she hadn’t ever found a reason to come all the way up here, instead spending most of her time in Colorado, at her cabin in the mountains. The whole place was surrounded by a large concrete fence, topped with iron bars sharpened to a point. Building tops could be seen over it, but before any of them were even allowed in, Felix hopped out of his van and went to the front gate.

He had never said how he could get them in, not to her at least. There were a pair of men guarding the gate, and even though one of them left, Felix didn’t seem bothered by it. He stood there and he chatted with this other guard, ignoring how the man kept looking over at all the vehicles - and all of the people. She was still sitting on her bike, the engine off, and far enough away to miss most of their conversation.

She did, however, hear the guy at the gate say, “Dude, Felix! This is way too many people!”

And Felix’s reply: “Oh, relax. You’re acting like I’ve brought an entire village.”

After a couple of minutes, the gates opened just far enough to let the guardsman walk back through. He was followed by a woman, dressed in earthen tones, hair pulled out of her face. There was a gun strapped to her back. This had to be Kimball. Texas slid off the bike, moving forward quickly to join Felix where he stood, just in time to hear him address her.

He sounded cheerful, like she was an old friend. “Vanessa! How’ve you been?”

Kimball fixed him with a hard stare, glancing over to Texas, and behind them before landing on him again. “What the hell is this, Felix? You can’t keep bringing people here.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told that,” he answered slowly. It did absolutely nothing to affect that self-assured smirk he wore. “These people have nowhere else to go. And you did tell me last time I was here that if i saw anyone who needed help, send them your way.”

“That was months ago,” Kimball said. “We don’t have the resources! It’s winter, we have to ration food and water as it is. Bringing new people here is not helping.”

“They’re useful,” Felix said. He nodded at Tex. “She can kick ass. Hell, you could probably put Texas here in charge of all of your defenses and nothing will get by her.”

Texas shook her head. “No, Felix. No. Look, Kimball - we came here because the power failed where we lived. If you let us in, you can find a way for us to be of use.”

Kimball looked skeptical and Texas considered just bullying her way in. She could do it, she was sure. Spending a day driving was bad enough, but neither she nor Wash had gotten much sleep last night. Unlike the rest of these idiots, Texas couldn’t sleep with a threat of more black-clothed attackers filing out of the night to kill them. Apparently Wash couldn’t either. Between the both of them, she was willing to bet they got only five hours of sleep. That might be pushing it. So she stood there, tired, not at all in the mood to put up with Vanessa Kimball and her reluctance to let anyone else in those gates.

Felix spoke again before she could do anything. “Let them stay for the night,” he said. “We can talk this over, Vanessa. I’ll help you figure something out.” HIs smirk morphed into a smile then, the most charming thing Texas had ever seen from him. It had to be bullshit. “Have I ever let you down before?”

There was a moment where Texas expected Kimball to turn him down anyway, send them all packing. But then she sighed, raising a hand to her temple briefly. “Fine. Fine. One night. We’re going to talk about this before nightfall, Felix. I swear… It’s like you’re trying to kill me here.”

Felix’s smile grew to a grin at that.

Texas frowned.

“Thanks,” he said. It sounded believable - but a lot of what he said did. “You won’t regret this. They’re good people.”

Kimball started to turn back to the gates when Felix stopped her again.

“And, uh…” He paused, and there was this moment - this split second where he looked worried, confused, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to proceed - but then it was gone. Back to the smile and the charm. “Locus is with me.”

Kimball’s frown deepened, eyes narrowing. “Dammit, Felix… You’re going to keep an eye on him. I will not have a repeat of last time.”

He grinned, and apparently that was a good enough answer because Kimball was retreating back through the gate. As she ordered the men to open it, Texas turned to look at Felix. The charming smile had dropped completely, leaving him with this intense look of concentration as he stared at Kimball’s retreating back. “...What happened last time?” she asked. Seemed better to ignore his change in expression.

He blinked and the concentration vanished. “Hm? Oh. Oh, nothing.” He glanced back at her and grinned again. “Locus just… He’s a scary guy. Kimball’s people don’t care for him. There may have been an incident where I encouraged some of them to pick a fight with him, and he may have broken some bones but they totally deserved it. It was fine. Still fine.”

She wasn’t sure how well she believed that, but she also didn’t feel like arguing with him. He said everything was fine, then so be it. Felix headed back to his van, and Tex settled back onto her bike. Staying for a night was a good start, she thought, but if Felix didn’t manage to charm their way into staying permanently, she was going to break something. Never mind that she didn’t trust him at all, or that all those thoughts about him being dangerous had resurfaced.

Felix could be as dangerous as he wanted. He could threaten them, pull guns on them, but if he didn’t get them in here she might just kill him for that. Get it over with before he could do anything.

The gates had opened completely by now, showing the barest hint of the safe haven beyond it. The van went first, rolling through slowly, and Texas watched the others fall into place behind it. She was last, gazing over the horizon behind them before she did. There was this feeling she couldn’t shake, dread and anticipation worming through her gut. Like something wasn’t right, that something was going to happen and soon. She drove after the others, gates shutting behind them with a heavy clang.

 


	17. the stakes are high

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. how have we all been for the past, uh. several... months...  
> this one is longer than probably any other single chapter has been. i literally have no excuse. maybe its worth the wait? in any case, please - if you haven't already - take note of the changed tags and added warning. thank you for reading.
> 
> have a [gift](http://8tracks.com/alphaniner/wildfire).

Inside the concrete walls and gates, Kimball’s camp was really nothing but a community. Something that would have made more sense if it was in an actual habitable zone and not the Canadian redlined wilderness. Picturesque houses with snow-covered yards. Streets cleared of snow. Tall street lights towering above them as they moved slowly down the main street. The further in they went, the less houses there were, replaced by five-story tall apartment buildings. There were businesses at the bottom of each one, doors propped open or closed against the cold. Uniformed soldiers stood on sidewalks, on street corners, heads turning as they passed. There were civilians too, completely unarmed. They walked in pairs, casting glances at the line of vehicles rolling past slowly. There were even children, bound up in thick winter coats, running down sidewalks. A couple of them even shouted at the van as it passed, chasing it down the sidewalk until the window rolled down and Felix leaned out to yell back at them.

It was strange to see people actually excited about Felix, let alone children, but when Texas drove by where they had stopped, she was sure that was what just happened. Somehow, that asshole had charmed even children. It was strangely disturbing to think about.

Eventually, the van pulled off the main road and into an empty parking lot beside a three-story building that matched all the others around it. Dark brick walls, first floor windows closed and blocked by shutters or, in some cases, iron bars. Felix hopped out of the van before the humvee had even stopped, heading for the door like he knew exactly where he was going. Tex turned her bike off as one of those uniformed soldiers flung the door open with a grin.

“Been awhile since you were here,” the soldier said. There was a gun strapped to their hip, the only weapon that Tex could see. Made them one hell of an under equipped soldier.

“Locus and I had other work to do,” Felix was saying. “We couldn’t just hang around here, no matter how much we wanted to.”

The others were leaving the vehicles as he talked, most of them standing there, unsure of what to do or what was going on. They talked, of course, loudly and obnoxiously. They commented on this ‘camp’, the uniformed people that roamed the streets, the children, everything and anything. By the door, Felix and the soldier ignored them, and Tex tried to follow that example best she could. It was a little hard to ignore Tucker complaining loudly: “Why are we listening to Felix? The guy’s a dick.”

“He says he knows Kimball,” Wash answered with a shrug.

“Yeah, ‘cause we can’t get in without his help,” Tucker grumbled. He stood by the humvee with Church and Wash, Caboose nearby and trying to keep his dog away from passersby.

“Felix is our best bet,” Wash said.

“Bullshit. I could get us in there.”

At that, Church interjected with “Tucker… Your horrible flirting would only piss the woman off.” He was glaring, Tex knew that before looking at him. Glaring at Tucker, shoulders hunched up as if he was cold even with the thick jacket. “If we left it to you,” he said, “we’d all get kicked out.”

Texas ignored them then, turning her attention back to Felix. There was another uniformed person standing with him now and Locus had walked over to him. The two of them stood close, Felix leaning away from Locus and toward the uniformed soldier instead. Their voices had been overpowered by Wash and the band of idiots, so Texas started forward to hear them. That conversation didn’t lead much of anywhere - the uniformed person was arguing with Felix, insisting that Locus was not at all allowed in this building. Authorized persons only, they said. No room for Locus, no chance of that rule wavering.

Locus said nothing but that helmet was enough to frighten someone on its own. The fervent glances this uniformed person kept sending his way made that obvious.

Pathetic, to be given a uniform and a station to watch and yet they stood there and made it all too obvious that Felix and Locus had the power over them. Or at least Locus did. The soldier said, “Look. Felix - just, really, listen to me. You can come in here and wait for Kimball, that’s fine. You’ve been cleared, but him? No, it’s not possible.”

“Locus is my partner,” Felix said simply.

The poor soldier was visibly distressed. The next look they gave Locus was longer than the previous ones. “I… I don’t think… I know that, but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Well, you idiot, Locus being my partner means that he goes where I go.”

“Felix, I can’t -- “

“If I’m meeting Kimball, then so is Locus. That’s all there is to it.”

Tex pushed between Felix and Locus then, shoving them both aside so she could stare straight at this soldier of Kimball’s. Young, with close cropped hair and wide eyes. Someone eager to please if Texas had to guess. The uniform they wore was tan in color, clean and pressed, complete with a fur-lined hood on the jacket. This person was not cut out for combat. They took one look at her - at the guns on her back and hips, the black helmet that covered her face - and they said, “Aw, now who the fuck is this?”

“Texas,” Felix supplied. “She’s a specialist.”

Texas raised one hand and smacked Felix across the back of his head. Wasn’t really an excuse for but when he cursed and turned to glare at her, what she said was, “I can introduce myself, asshole.” That was either good enough for him or he just didn’t want to argue about it, because he turned back to the soldier. Tex spoke before Felix could. “If you don’t want Locus here, let me go instead. It’d be better for these idiot friends of mine if I could talk to the woman in charge here.”

And she wasn’t too keen on letting Felix out of her sight. That uneasy feeling was still nesting in her gut and it was hooked onto this annoying fuck. Like he was responsible for her own apprehension.

The soldier didn’t want to let her in either. They didn’t want to let anyone in except for Felix. It took his charming smile and reassuring words, Tex removing her helmet and proving she had a face, and Locus saying he would be fine with leaving for them to finally relent. They pushed the door open behind them, leading Felix and Texas inside.

It was nothing impressive. The door shut behind them and left them standing at the edge of a large open area with wood floors and empty walls. There was a counter to the left, one person sitting there with papers before them. Chairs lined the wall opposite and to Texas, it was reminiscent of a doctor’s office back in the cities. It had been years since anything reminded her so heavily of actual civilization and now it only made her frown. The soldier led them out of this room and took a sharp left to climb a flight of stairs.

Upstairs was as bland as the room downstairs. All the doors were shut, the hardwood floors cleaned and still they looked dirty; there was nothing on the walls, again. It gave off the feeling of an abandoned house, one of thousands Texas had slept in while traveling. Like it was a place a weary traveler had made home for a few nights rather than a building in a safe haven. The soldier was leading them to the door at the end of the hall, and there were voices slipping out from behind the closed doors they passed.

The soldier pushed the door open and gestured for them to go inside. “You’ll wait here,” they said. “When Kimball arrives, she’ll come here to see you.” When both Texas and Felix stepped through the door, they shut it. Only Tex looked back at the closed door. Felix had wasted no time in throwing himself into one of the four chairs in the room.

It was set up as a small meeting room. One square table with a chair on each side and Felix was sitting in the one that faced the door. The curtains over the windows were opened to let sunlight through, making Felix cast a large shadow over the table. He leaned back as far as the chair would allow, breathing deeply and running a hand through his hair. His eyes were closed and for a moment, just an instant, he looked as if something was weighing heavy on his shoulders. It vanished as soon as he opened his eyes again, that resident smirk covering his face instead.

Texas spoke first. “How do you plan on getting us in here?”

His smirk morphed to a smile, charming, full of bullshit. “Just trust me, Tex,” he said. “If there’s anyone who can make this happen, it’s me.”

She didn’t doubt that. “Something to expect would be nice, Felix.”

All he did was laugh and tell her to wait and see. Tex glared at him, at the smug look on his face, watching as he kicked his feet up on top of the table. Small clumps of melting snow fell from his boots and he ignored it. Just like Texas ignored him, instead walking across the small room to peer out the windows. Outside, Church still stood with Tucker and Caboose. She could make out Wash standing next to Locus at the corner of the building. Those young kids and every single one of the Reds had disappeared, though.

The silence in the room was heavy and Tex was grateful when the door opened and Kimball stepped through. The gun was still on her back. She took one look at Felix and sighed. “Feet off the table, Felix.”

Felix listened, dropping his feet to the floor. He said nothing, just smiled and wiped the snow off the table. Texas turned away from the window; she made no move to sit at the table and neither did Kimball. They stood there, on opposite sides of the room, eyeing one another. At the table, Felix spoke first: “So, Vanessa. Do I get the same place as last time?”

Kimball glanced down at it. “No. Rogers moved in there. Took some convincing, but you aren’t getting him out of there now.”

“Great… I better get to pick the new room.”

Kimball ignored him, something that Texas was glad for. The pointless bullshit that came out of Felix’s mouth wasn’t appreciated right now, not when he had promised to get her and the others inside. She didn’t care about him or where he stayed or why he wanted that particular room - even if he was still lamenting about the loss of it. He only stopped when Kimball pulled a chair out and sat down across from him, dictating the conversation instantly to their purpose there.

Texas told her that all she wanted was a place to stay with the guys she had come with. And when that didn’t get much of anything from Kimball, Felix finally spoke up about it. “They won’t be much trouble,” he told her. “Trust me, Kimball. These people have been living out in the wilds for years.” He described the mountainside that Tex had lived on, the base the others had been found on, and did one hell of a job on making them all sound much better than they were. Almost made Church sound competent when the two of them knew that man’s survival was only because he wouldn’t turn.

She saw no reason to correct him on any of it. “We’ll do whatever you need from us,” she said to Kimball. “I can try and help point the guys where to go to cause less trouble, if that helps. Just let us stay.”

Kimball was wavering, she could tell. A good thing, as Texas wasn’t going to lower herself to pleading to stay or bartering anymore than she already had. And hopefully lying about how much trouble these idiots would cause wouldn’t come to bite her in the ass until much, much later. After the winter, preferably, when she could go back to her cabin and out of range of this woman’s wrath.

When Kimball spoke, it sounded reluctant. “Fine. Fine. You can stay - for a month.”

At least it was something.

“We’ll meet again in the next month to discuss where to go from there,” she continued. “If you and your friends prove to be good for this place, then we can figure out more permanent details for all of you. One of my men will find you somewhere to stay, ask the woman at the desk downstairs and she’ll tell you which one.”

Texas nodded her thanks, not relenting anything else. Not until she figured out this woman.

To Felix, Kimball said, “As for you… I still need to talk to you.”

He smiled and shrugged. “As long as I get to pick my own place. I want a room with a view. Either first floor or a penthouse with a fire escape.” He was joking, had to be. Either that or thinking of a city he had been to. Lived in. “One room, big bed, nice running water.”

Kimball ignored all of that. “We need to talk about your partner,” she said. “And about what you are going to have to do to make sure I don’t kick both of you out of here.”

Texas left the two of them to talk. Downstairs, the woman at the desk directed her to another room in the back, past the stairs and to the left. There, Texas met with a man called Cunningham. All he did was tell her he’d be ready to take her and the others to a place to stay in a few minutes. So Texas found herself standing outside again, approaching Locus and Washington first - they were the closest and what pieces of conversation she could hear from the idiots standing further back wasn’t making her want to talk to them.

For instance, right when she stepped outside, she caught the tail end of one of Tucker’s bad jokes and Church’s reply of, “Will you shut the fuck up about that? It’s not true.”

“It totally is,” Tucker said. “You just don’t want to admit that I’m the better shot.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Got a better shot with the ladies,” Tucker said, talking over Church, “and with my guns.”

“Why are you shooting a lady?” Caboose asked. “Is it Tex? Are you going to shoot Tex?”

“No one is shooting Tex,” Church said loudly.  

There was no chance in hell she was going over there. The one glance she threw to the three idiots was met by Caboose, and she turned away before he could say anything to alert the others. As it was, Church paid her no attention and she was able to join the other two without getting pulled into some stupid argument.

Not that things with Wash and Locus was much better. As far as she could tell, she had interrupted a really thrilling conversation about guns. It didn’t matter. Wash interrupted Locus mid-sentence to greet her, to ask what had happened with the camp’s leader. Texas spared a glance at Locus before she spoke. The dark visor on that helmet really did make it impossible to see his face and gauge his reaction to anything. Annoying.

She told them about Kimball and what had been discussed. By some miracle, the news that they could stay in this camp was heard by Church and the other two, and they crowded around her as well. The three of them seemed eager for a place to stay that wasn’t a derelict military base, and she couldn’t really blame them for that.

Before she could explain that they’d have to work, Tucker said, “Man, we’re gonna have to tell the Reds, aren’t we?”

Tex sighed. “Probably, yeah,” she said. “But first - ”

Wash said, “Are you really going to keep calling them that? It isn’t like you guys are split by color - you weren’t in the first place either.”

“I don’t know if you missed it,” Church said, “but Sarge likes his colors for some stupid reason. I mean, hey, feel free to argue with him. Maybe he’ll yell at you and I’ll get some rest for once.”

“Blue is the better color,” Caboose said. The dog at his heels barked as if it agreed.

“Hell yeah it is,” Tucker said absently. He raised one hand and patted Caboose on the shoulder. “Take the dog and find the Reds.”

That, apparently, was something that Caboose was more than willing to do. He grinned and started away, only to stop and come right back. “Ah! Church is coming too,” he declared, slinging an arm around Church’s shoulders.

“No,” Church said. “I’m staying with Tex.”

“No, go. It’ll be fun.” Tex grinned at him when Church’s perpetual frown deepened. As Caboose led him away, Church gave her one last, irritated look and all she did was wave. Once they got far enough away, she turned back to the ones left and said, “So, we’ll be working to earn our stay here.”

As she expected, Tucker cursed loudly.

She was busy wondering how to break the news to the others - outright, preferably; why walk around it - when one of Kimball’s men came up to them. He introduced himself and Texas immediately forgot his name. The only thing he was here for was to give them a brief tour of the camp, show them important places, and show them to their new quarters. He said, “Is… is this all of you?” and Tex was thankful that Wash took over from there to explain about the others that had run off. He even offered to take the poor soldier of Kimball’s off to find them, and then roped Tucker into it.

Tex started after them, only for a hand to grasp her by the arm. She turned and could make out her own reflection in the visor of the helmet that stared back at her. Locus, so quiet she had managed to forget he was even still there. He said, “Where is Felix?”

She almost smiled. “He’s inside,” she said with a nod back to the building.

Of course Locus would be focused on Felix. It would have been cute if she wasn’t so suspicious of them lately. “Are you gonna wait for him or do you want a tour?” she asked. He denied the tour, saying that he already knew his way around here, but when she walked off after Washington and Tucker, he followed. She didn’t bother asking why.

✶ ✶ ✶

Felix had planned to spend no less than half an hour dealing with Kimball and getting things settled with the group he had dragged in. When it drew past that time, every passing minute just made him more annoyed. As soon as Texas had left, he had set his phone on the table, checked to see that it had taken less than five minutes to sort that mess out. It had left him confident in getting out on time - but what Kimball wanted to talk to him about took much, much longer. She was venting, he knew that. Placing part of the blame on him and just using him as someone to talk to, something she had roped him into in the past and that he readily accepted. There were times where being someone Kimball talked to about anything was useful. Now, however, it was just a pain in the ass.

First, she brought up how he was responsible for the camp’s supplies stretched as thin as they were. He had sent people her way and now she couldn’t handle it. Really, he was just following the directions she had given the last time he had been here, but now he was the bad guy? Right.

Kimball talked about the food, and the drinkable water (and she did not appreciate him suggesting to melt the snow, not one bit). She mentioned the amount of people now living in her camp and how hard it was to keep everyone in line lately. There were children who got sick and needed doctors, and people who broke bones and needed those set - and not enough doctors to take care of kids and nurse wounds and broken bones. Those in uniforms were simply volunteers who were willing to take the time to protect the camp. Most weren’t fully trained because, according to Kimball, anyone who had fended for themselves out there didn’t care to put themselves at risk again.

“You’ll have to arm them eventually,” Felix said. “With the amount of people you’ve got, they need someone protecting them who actually knows how to wield the weapons. Like that kid downstairs? Great person. Not at all ready to defend anyone.”

She sighed. “I know. But that’s an entirely different problem.”

“Ohh, is it the possibility of psychological damage?” He smiled as she frowned. “You would not believe how many times this one doctor has insisted on psych evals when I go to these zones.”

“No,” she said. “Everyone is subjected to evaluations before I’ll even consider putting a gun in their hand.”

Made sense.

“We don’t have enough guns,” Kimball continued, “to arm every person. There isn’t enough ammo here for everyone either.”

It was just another problem on the list to her, but to Felix this was golden information. His work would be a lot easier to complete if there weren’t enough guns. Hell, maybe if he used this in the right way, he’d get home a lot quicker - a lack of proper weapons for these people meant less resistance, right? Less chance of either one of them being shot. It’d be a lot easier to take out huge crowds if there was, say, one-in-four with a gun. The whole thing would have to be discussed with Locus, but the current plan had laid aside four full days to finish clearing out this camp and the surrounding land before they left.

But all that could be figured out later. For now, he promised Kimball that he would see what he could do about the gun and ammunition problem. It would obviously end with him giving her a heartfelt apology, but it turned out that he and Locus had nothing to spare, very sorry.

By the time Kimball got around to mentioning the pair she had locked up in a room away from the others, Felix was twenty minutes past his limit and getting antsy sitting there. These people, whoever they were, had been stripped of their weapons by Kimball’s people. She said that one of them had an injury, a limp to his leg and bandages tight around his calf - a medic had determined it to be a gunshot wound. A very messy gunshot wound.

“I don’t know what to do with them,” she said about the two locked away. Her hands rested on the table in front of her, fingers tapping on the wood in short bursts.

“It’s a gunshot wound,” Felix said. “Just fix the guy up and give him a job.” He had leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. This was taking way too long to get through, and even though his plans directly after this meeting would be tiresome and frustrating, he wanted to get a move on. Day had to be half over at least.

“It’s not that simple.”

Of course it wasn’t.

“There’s a possibility his wound is infected,” Kimball said. “We don’t know where these two have been, how long they’ve been out there - “

“You could say the same thing about everyone. What’s the actual problem?”

Kimball didn’t speak for a few seconds, leaving a heavy silence between them. A door slammed out in the hall, laughter and footsteps muffled background noise. When she finally spoke, she started with a sigh. “Look, Felix. These two are dangerous. They showed up in the middle of the night in a car loaded with high grade equipment that I’ve never seen out here. They’ve got enough ammunition for three times the amount of guns they had, and when I asked them what they were doing here, they wouldn’t say.”

“Nothing like strangers with guns to put you on edge,” Felix said.

“This is a serious problem, Felix.”

“And I’m sure you can handle it.”

She fixed with that look again, the one that meant he was already wearing on her patience. "There could be more like them," she said. "More people who show up with no warning, and who have more guns than they need."

"So they're a safety threat."

Kimball nodded slowly. For a few seconds she said nothing and Felix was just about to stand and leave when she finally did. "I need you to do one thing for me today. Go to these men and talk to them. See if you can find out what they want."

She wanted an actual reason for them being there, he knew. And he could get that easily. "Alright. Anything else?"

"Don't tell that friend of yours that I have those two in custody."

"Friend? What, you mean Locus?"

Kimball shook her head, standing. "No. The woman. Texas."

For a second, he considered asking why. Natural curiosity and nothing else. “Whatever you say, Vanessa,” he said. “I’ll keep this whole thing a secret.” He plastered on his best smile as he said it made sure the impatience he was feeling wasn’t obvious. One of the smiles that had always earned him Kimball’s help and trust.

Getting out of there a relief, like a weight lifting off his back. Kimball walked with him as far as the staircase, reminded him to check on those men she locked up, and then excused herself and disappeared behind a door closeby.

Felix passed by the few soldiers milling around inside with brief greetings on his way to the door. He was thinking about getting Locus and taking the van, driving out to the building at the edge of camp they had stayed in last time, and finding another good place. That last room had been perfect - highest floor, lots of room, and a fantastic view of the surrounding trees. From that room, they could see things at the front of the trees during the summer and he was positive that they would be able to see anything within the trees now. A perfect spot to make sure Control’s forces stayed out of sight, the perfect way to make sure they were far from the center of the camp when it all went to hell.

Because the plan called for the forces from Control taking the first blow. Those bastards would absorb the greatest danger and when Felix was inevitably called on to help, he and Locus would attack from the other side, flank the motherfuckers, and mow them down.

There was more to it, but that was the bare bone essentials of it all. And he couldn’t wait.

He was thinking about all of that when he pushed the door opene

d and the cold air blasted him back to the present. Outside, all the vehicles were still there - his van, the humvee and the jeeps, even Tex’s motorcycle - but not a single person was in sight. Sure, across the street there were people walking in either direction, entering buildings, but none of those were the people he wanted. Person, rather. He was pulling his phone out, planning to call up Locus and demand to know where he had gone off to, when the door behind him opened again.

One of Kimball’s soldiers stood there, the same person that had opened the door and argued with him earlier. They were frowning, looking at Felix like they couldn’t understand what he was doing there. They said, “Shouldn’t you be with the others?”

Felix had frozen with his finger over Locus’s name. “I have no idea where they are,” he said. “And if you don’t mind, I was going to call and find out.”

Once again, before he could press to call Locus, this soldier drew his attention. “Oh, well, I - uhm, I was supposed to show you where those guys are,” the soldier said. “The ones Kimball told you about? She… she did tell you, right?”

“Yes, yes, of course she did.” Felix paid no attention as the soldier kept on stuttering, some long-winded explanation and maybe a mention of who they were, whatever. Boring stuff. He called Locus and frowned as the ringtone kept blaring and blaring. Eventually, after it cut off and he called back immediately, Felix turned and looked behind him at the van in the parking lot. The poor idiot beside him was still stuttering and Felix cut that off to curse. “I’m gonna hurt him,” he said. He shoved his phone in his pocket, ignoring as the soldier asked what he was talking about.

He had this idea, just a hunch, that Locus had wandered off in this big camp without bothering to take his phone with him. And when Felix peered through the window of the van, there it was. Locus’s phone, just sitting on the console between the seats, the black face taunting him. Felix tried to open it, and failed.

So Locus had the keys too. Great. Fantastic.

Felix huffed out an angry breath and kicked the van’s door, turning back to the soldier. They stared at him from by the road still, so he headed back to them, raising his voice. “Hey! You!”

The poor kid looked to jump out of their skin when Felix actually addressed them again. Maybe he had spoken too sharply. “Uhm - Yes, sir? What is it?”

Huh. Sir. Nice to be spoken to with respect. “I know what you can do for me,” Felix said. “Help me find my idiot partner so I can slap him for leaving his phone.” He had almost said something else, something about Locus leaving him alone, and this little ball of nerves ate it up instead.

“Yeah, okay,” the soldier said. They stood a little straighter. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to - ?”

“Nope.” Whatever Kimball wanted could wait. “Help me find Locus.” He strode forward with no real idea of where he was heading, and the soldier jumped forward to follow him. “If I find Locus, then we’ll both go talk to these men of Kimball’s. That’s kind of what partners do, y’know. Work together.”

The soldier stammered out another pitiful response and Felix ignored it, leading them deeper into the camp. People were everywhere, a constant source of motion, full of life and noise - seriously, it was like none of them knew how to shut up. More than he would have thought stopped Felix to greet him and welcome him back to camp, and each time there was a few seconds where he painted on another fake smile and handed out false pleasantries. Turned out that there was only so many times he could say that he was glad to see someone again, glad to be back, glad to be alive and safe. And the more he spoke to these pitiful people, the more irritated he became until he was wishing their plan was to start today.

Just another reason to find Locus. Once he had that jackass alone, maybe Felix could convince him to start killing early. Deviate from the plan for once. Felix was good at that kind of thing, and prodding Locus along was easy now. It was a fleeting idea - no matter how sure he was he could convince Locus, the bastard behind Control wouldn’t be so easily swayed.

The soldier had started leading while Felix was thinking, taking them further into the camp, closer to the center. This was the busiest part of the whole camp, where people congregated for food, for games, even to browse through little shops set up along the sidewalks. All the shops sold merchandise on a bartering system - for other goods like ammo or food, a sweater in the cold weather, things like that. Felix glanced through each one as they passed; one guy was selling ammunition, another sold homemade blankets and scarves and sweaters. Another lady had toys for children, old things that she had cleaned and made to look almost new again.

In the very center of the camp, there was what had once been a round-a-bout. The street once used by cars was covered by packed down snow pathways that the people had walked over and over again. In the very center, a couple was cooking meat on a small grill. It was a nice scene with the citizens here helping one another and trading goods and eating freshly cooked meat.

A shame it wouldn’t last.

One lady stopped him, called out for him, and when Felix turned to face her, she grinned. It was the woman selling the knitted scarves and sweaters. Her little shop was set up in a wooden stall in front of a larger shop, one run by several people, all of which could be seen through the window. Why she wasn’t inside with the rest of them was a stupid little mystery that Felix didn’t care to know the answer to.

She said, “It’s so good to see you again,” and he knew he would have to bullshit his way through this as fast as possible.

Who the fuck was this lady anyway? He couldn’t even remember a name. Still, he dished out the same old pleasantries and was about to go before she said something that made him freeze.

“Wouldn’t you like one?” she asked. “It’ll be free. A gift, just for you, for helping us so often.”

Felix looked at her, frowning. “I’m sorry? You’re… giving me one of these?” He gestured at her knitted wares. All of it looked well made, he had to admit. Looked like it would definitely last through the winter. “It’s a nice gesture,” he said after a few seconds, “but I don’t really need anything.”

She smiled. Beside him, the soldier was urging to keep moving. “What about that partner of yours?” she said. “I’m certain he’d appreciate a gift from you - the holidays are coming up soon, I believe. I’d have to check the official calendar, but I’m definitely sure it’s right around the corner.”

Holidays. He thought it was odd that they’d bother celebrating such things in the middle of a zombie wasteland, but, hey, whatever helped them through the night. And, anyway, what the hell was that about his partner? “I, uh… I think Locus and I will be back in Portland by Christmas,” he said quickly. “Really, I don’t - “

“Oh, hush, it’s free,” the woman said. She yanked a scarf out of the pile, some vibrant green thing, and held it out for him. Her smile grew as he took it. “And, like I said… I’m sure he’ll like it, if it’s from you.”

The fuck did that mean? Felix looked at the scarf he held, head tilted a bit as he thought. He had taken the thing because he saw no way to get out of taking it - and no reason to deny a free scarf. As he turned to follow the soldier again, he gripped the scarf with one hand and reached for their shoulder with the other. His mind was whirring again, caught up on things that he was really hoping he would have forgotten by now.

The soldier stared at him, and Felix asked, “What do the people here think a partner is?”

Kimball’s camp was supposed to have cured him of this. Like, he had really been hoping for his mind to have cleared once they were here, for all these twisted thoughts of Locus and this stupid relationship to have dissolved. At the very least, the problem could have gone away for a bit. Preferably until they got far, far away from here.

This idiot soldier staring blankly at him wasn’t helping matters. Felix frowned, heart pounding as he thought. The woman with the scarves clearly thought there was something between him and Locus - and there was, he supposed. Kind of.

“Uh, well…” The soldier paused, shifting from one foot to another. They glanced around them then back to Felix, and sighed. “You guys are... together, right?”

“So?”

It came out a lot harsher than one single word had any right to and they actually flinched, taking a step back from him. “S-So… so, people here, they think that - that you two are, y’know… in love? I guess.” Felix’s face morphed into a mixture of disgust and outrage and the soldier stepped back again. “Shit, I’m sorry! But it’s the truth, I mean - I think that’s it.”

“I don’t love him,” Felix spat. “He’s my partner, but…” He trailed off, brow furrowing as he looked at the scarf in his hand again. His behavior was frightening this idiot soldier, and he could really care less about that, but the two of them were getting attention from others. And he absolutely could not have people see him losing his cool in the middle of a crowded area like this.

After another silent moment, he trudged forward again and the soldier fell into step beside him. “What do you do,” Felix started quietly, “if you’re in a - a relationship that you never considered?”

It was stupid how nervous this made him. He could feel his ears burning and sincerely wished his whole face wouldn’t flush.

The soldier said, “Do you want to be in it?”

Felix didn’t answer. He wanted Locus as his partner, wanted them to be together like they had been for the past five years. But if that had been a relationship, did that mean he wanted that too?

“I think you should figure that out first,” the soldier said. Their voice was quiet, like they were afraid this would be overheard. In a way, Felix thought he should be afraid of that same thing. “Because if you want to be in the relationship, then you can… build from there. Make something of it.”

“What does that mean?” He glanced at the soldier, knowing he looked as confused as he felt. That he looked like he actually had emotions.

The soldier shrugged, looking away from him, at their feet as they walked over the cleared sidewalk. “I’m not sure, honestly. Just an idea.” They hesitated, then continued, speaking even quieter. “If you’re in this relationship with Locus - like that’s what you mean, right? With him?”

Felix gave an answer in the form of a grunt, a reluctant yes.

“Then, if you do want to be with him, just find things to do together? That’s a good place to start.”

“We kill things and fuck,” Felix said. “What else is there?”

They made a face, directed at him for a second and then at nothing as they stared ahead. “Okay…” They stopped, standing before the camp’s main cafeteria. Probably wanted to go inside, but Felix wasn’t leaving until this shitty conversation was finished. “I guess that’s a start, but like.. I don’t know, Felix, don’t you guys do things for each other? With each other?”

“Like what?”

Now they just looked exasperated, as if Felix was the one wearing on their nerves rather than the other way around. “I don’t know. Like, a trip or something. Go some place together.”

“We are. After this job is done.”

That trip to Europe wasn’t some kind of relationship thing though. That was like a gift. Like: ‘Good job on getting a lot of money, Felix, go have fun and get a blowjob at the Eiffel Tower!’ That kind of trip.

The soldier nodded. “Okay… That’s good, I guess.” They took a step toward the cafeteria door and Felix grabbed their arm to yank them back. They sighed, “What?”

“How do I know if I want this?” Felix asked. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, grip way too tight on the scarf in his hand. He was probably taking this too seriously, but he didn’t do this kind of thing. He didn’t have relationships, not real ones. Never a real one.

“I don’t know,” they said. Useless answer. “You’ll have to figure that out yourself.”

Talking to the soldier was supposed to have made him less nervous, made things less confusing, but literally nothing had changed. He followed them into the cafeteria, frowning deeply. He hardly paid attention to where they led him, clutching the scarf and trying to think about just what he wanted from Locus - from a relationship with Locus. It made his head spin; he had nothing to compare this to, nothing to draw from but stupid movies and drama series, and none of those had involved a zombie killing partner as a plot point.

He was so distracted by his train of thought that he didn’t notice the soldier had stopped until he ran into them. Cursing, Felix told them to watch where they were going, ignoring the frown he got in return.

“I found him,” the soldier said, gesturing before them. “Can we finish what we’re supposed to do now?”

Standing several feet away from the two of them was Locus, his infuriating partner. He stood with the others, some of the Reds and the Blues, Wash and Tex. None of them mattered. Felix had set out to find Locus, intent on dragging him along on whatever bullshit he was supposed to be doing, But now he froze, staring at Locus like an idiot, like he was caught, stuck, glued to the fucking floor. Beside him, the soldier was calling attention to them and Felix wanted to punch the idiot in the throat. Instead, he morphed his face into his usual cocky smile, forcing the tension in his shoulders to relax.

Locus still wore his helmet, which meant he would be nearly impossible. Add that to Felix not being able to know what the guy was looking at, and this sucked big time. Felix ambled over to Locus’s side, leaving inches between them, and looked at anyone other than him. Several of the Reds and Blues were taking seats around a table, trays of food in their hands, and of course this is what the morons came to do first. He took a brief moment to note absences - Sarge and that Spanish speaking asshole; Doc and Caboose, the noisy dog with them. It didn’t matter where those few had gone off to; it surely wasn’t his problem to keep these morons together.

They were a good opportunity for a distraction, though, and fuck knows he needed one. Felix stepped away from Locus, sliding into a seat opposite Tucker. “So,” he said, “you guys leave without me? And then you come get lunch? That hurts.”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “You found us, didn’t you?”

“Hurts so bad.” He sighed, placing a hand over his heart and pulling the most over-dramatic, saddened expression he could. “I think I’m mortally wounded.”

Tucker said, “Shut the fuck up, man.”

Playing like this, putting on some foolish front and cracking jokes with idiots, it was so much easier than thinking. Especially with what he was so stuck on. There was no need to worry about emotions when he had this to fall back on. The soldier tried to get his attention and Felix shooed him away, saying, “Can’t you see I’m busy? Get out of here.” He ignored what the soldier said next, something about Kimball, because whatever that was could wait. Preferably for when he wasn’t so preoccupied with stupid things and could give the problem the attention it deserved. He did see the soldier leaving, caught them weaving back through the cafeteria as he laid the scarf loosely around his neck.

Felix spent about ten minutes antagonizing Tucker, and Church when he sat down. During that time, Wash joined them sitting beside Tucker and well out of range for Felix to pilfer food from his plate. The others sat further down, but Felix could pick out Donut’s voice and Simmons snapping at Grif about having too much food. The usual kind of shit that had carried over from the base these people had stayed in. At least they stayed consistent.

Eventually, Locus was taking the seat beside him, sliding a plate over to him. Felix glanced over just in time to see Locus pull his helmet off, setting it on the table between them. He caught Locus’s gaze, dark eyes piercing his own, and quickly turned back to the plate in front of him. He said, “Thanks, babe,” without thinking about it.

Locus said nothing. He did reach out with one hand beneath the table, gripping Felix’s thigh and squeezing. It was something he did on occasion, and Felix had been sure in the past that it was meant to be reassuring. A small thing that usually had Locus squeezed his shoulder instead, but he always did seem to know when Felix wouldn’t want people to see them touching, even so casually as this.

Usually, Felix would bother to reach for Locus’s hand and squeeze it in return. He ignored it now, not even looking at Locus until the hand lifted from his leg. He looked back at Locus then, and was certain Locus was going to speak.

Tex’s voice spoke first. “Oi! Felix!”

He jerked away from Locus, like he was a stupid teenager again, caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

Tex sat on Church’s other side, just across and to the right of Felix. She looked amused, but also annoyed. Good combination of emotions, he was sure. “Are you payin’ attention?” she asked.

He shrugged, shoving more meat in his mouth. More elk. Damn, he was getting tired of this.

“What did Kimball talk to you about?” Tex said. She leaned forward as she spoke, all amusement vanishing in an instant. “What was so important that only you get to hear it?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” He waved his fork at her, a chunk of elk speared on the end. “It’s business.”

Business that he had, somehow, forgotten about. All this mess with Locus was getting to be a problem if he was forgetting the work he was actually supposed to be doing. He thought about those two men locked up somewhere and wondered how irritated Kimball would be with him brushing it off. Sure, it wouldn’t matter in a few days, but being on Kimball’s good side right now meant he and Locus would be able to go wherever they pleased, no questions asked.

He’d definitely get to it after he ate.

Tex wasn’t pleased with that answer, demanded a full explanation, and when Felix refused her with a smile, she glared at him so fiercely she could burn holes into his head. Felix winked at her, and she snarled.

This was good, he thought. Baiting Tex and giving no answers, prodding her until she god angry. All in good fun. A great way to ease the nerves still holding tight in his gut. Locus remaining so quiet was a good aid in that as well. The big jackass seemed to understand now - Felix didn’t want to talk to him right now. He would have to later, for the plan. And that was the only thing they had to talk about.

He was thinking about that idea he had had of them getting separate rooms when a noisy shriek blasted his thoughts to pieces. Nearly blasted his ears apart, too. Annoyed, he set both hands on the table, and readied himself to reprimand some idiot fool of this camp, only to have the words catch in his throat.

A girl, pretty and clothed in bulky winter clothes, was basically clinging to Grif’s head, her arms fastened around his neck. That alone was odd enough - really, Felix was sure no one but Simmons was willing to touch Grif - but every single one of these morons had a nearly identical look of disbelief on their faces. Except for Wash, who was looking from the girl to Tucker, to Felix and Locus across the table. Felix glanced back at Tex, thinking maybe she knew what this was, and she shook her head. Alright. No answer there then.

Locus sighed beside him, reaching for his helmet to pull it back on again. He still didn’t say anything, just laid his hands on the table and sat there, silent.

If Felix wasn’t so keen on a distraction, he would have poked fun at how ridiculous Locus was with this silence thing. The guy could be so weird sometimes. As it was, this girl’s sudden arrival was like a godsend. Here was something that had nothing to do with Locus, didn’t even involve Felix’s own tangled thoughts. Something new to pay attention to, if only for as long as it interested him.

The girl was talking, going on about how great it was to see ‘Dex’ again - must be Grif’s name, Felix thought. Useless information when the fat lug would be dead soon, but whatever. He stood just to force Locus over to the seat he had vacated and then plopped down in the now free seat. Just in time to hear someone address this girl as Sister. Which was not a name, but it’d pass for one.

Sister was grinning, now leaning heavily on Grif’s head. Grif was glaring across the table, at Simmons, who was staring blankly at Sister. “Man, I thought I’d be alone here forever,” Sister said, pouting. “And then, hey! There’s this group of noisy guys and it’s you!”

Grif muttered something that sounded like a curse. He said, “You were supposed to go home,” but Sister didn’t seem to hear him. She was reaching out for Simmons, grabbing his hand and shaking it with both of hers, gushing nonsense. Whatever she was talking about had to be past events, something only these losers would understand.

Eventually, she looked up and caught sight of Felix sitting there, watching. Cutting across Simmons’s long-winded story about how they got here, she said, “Who the fuck is that? He’s hot.”

Felix smirked. He was hot. Good to see people still saw that quality. Never mind the muttered, “For God’s sake,” from Wash - poor guy just couldn’t see how great Felix was.

On the heels of her exclamation, Grif had said, “No,” so loudly it was practically a shout. Sister stood at the end of table now, right by him, and was glancing between Felix and Grif. “Don’t even think about it,” he told her. “He’s a fucking asshole.”

“Okay, but who is he?” Her eyes trailed from Felix to Locus beside him, to Wash, then Tex at the end, and finally all the way back to Grif. “Who’re the other ones? How’d you pick up so many hot people?”

“Sis.” Grif’s tone had an edge of warning to it.

It was Donut who introduced them all, which was fine, but he even went so far to add, “Felix is, well… he’s kind of with Locus, the big guy over there.”

Sister’s answering huff of breath was as over-dramatic as everything else about her so far. “Aww, really? It’s so boring here, I was hoping to have some fun.” She petered off into more complaints, pushing idly at Grif’s shoulder as if he were to blame.

As fascinating as this whole thing must be for the rest of them, Felix was beginning to tire of it. Whoever Sister may be, she was just another person here, another body he had to add to the pile. Even if he _had_ wanted to return her sentiment of ‘some fun’ - which he assumed meant sex - there wouldn’t be any time to get to it. Whatever free time he had in the next couple of days would be spent with his partner, setting up for the big show.

A pity, cause a pretty girl like her would have been a great detour from Locus, even if it was just for a little while.

Speaking of Locus, he was shifting in his seat, turning slowly toward Felix. Maybe he wanted to say something. Maybe he just wanted to leave and meant to pull Felix away with him. It didn’t matter anyway, because suddenly the mood at the end of the table changed and Felix perked up again. There was no more of Sister’s loud complaining, no more of Grif scowling and scolding her. Even the looks on their faces, the smiles that had popped up, all of that was fading.

Sister stood still, pulling at one sleeve of her jacket in a nervous way. Her face was drawn, eyes cast at the table but not really looking at it. She said, “I tried to go home, Dex,” and Felix knew instantly that Grif must have scolded her again for being here. “I got all the way out of Colorado, past that big gate they got up there.”

A border. This girl had made it through a hot zone border, possibly through a security check.

“I was at the airport,” she said, “trying to get a ticket home. Thought even with the extra shit they make you go through to get there, I could get to Mom, at least. Then, I was like, bartering with this lady ‘cause I didn’t have enough for it, and this other guy fuckin’ calls security on me.” She was frowning, face contorted. Either she was pissed off at the memory or about to cry over it. “They wouldn’t let me leave.”

Grif exploded then, asking, “What the fuck do you mean?” At the same time, Simmons was stumbling over words, his question lost in Grif’s furious demands for an explanation. Beside Simmons, Donut had lowered his gaze to the table, face drawn.

Sister spoke of how these security officers had forcibly taken her out of the airport, pulled her into a back room and locked her there for hours. Someone had brought her water, but that was it. They never gave her what little belongings she had had, but someone had come in and asked her where she came from, where she had been planning to go. She said she had been asked what she was planning to do, if she had any family, and how she had gotten to this airport on her own.

While she talked, Felix exchanged a look with Wash, noting how tense he had gotten as her story unfolded. At the edge of his vision, he could see Tex staring intently at the end of the table. Both of these specialists, so focused on one girl. And for a good reason. The whole story was ripe with secrets and full of mystery. The kind of story people just ate up.

The poor girl had been the subject of an interrogation, and for a reason no one had ever explained to her. “They took me back,” she said. “This guy put me in a car, and drove me right back.” She paused, looked at Grif, and at that moment, she really did look like she would cry. “They said if I tried to leave again, they’d kill our family. I had to stay, Dex.”

There was silent for a moment, all of them sitting in stunned silence. Tucker spoke first: “What the fuck? What the fuck kind of people did you meet?”

And then Grif was asking her why they herded her back, was the rest of the family okay? Somewhere in between his words was the stuttered idiocy of Simmons; Tucker was still demanding answers about who those people were; Church was muttering under his breath, none of his words clear. Altogether, they were making far too much noise and this Sister girl was looking more and more stressed every second.

It was Wash who finally shut them all up voice cutting across all of them. “Guys, leave her alone!”

They quieted, but just long enough for Grif to shoot him a dirty look. “Don’t tell me how to handle my own sister,” he said. “You just showed up here, what? A week ago?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Wash said. “Give her some space. She’s been through a lot and all of you yelling isn’t helping.”

Grif looked ready to say something else, something stupid and full of sarcasm, but Sister spoke first. “No, it’s okay.” It wasn’t clear which one she was speaking to. “I don’t know who they were, they just looked like guys in suits. I mean, really? I’m just glad I’m not alone here anymore.” She smiled again, a bright look. Like she had never been upset in the first place.

Felix looked away from her as she picked up another conversation with the guys, training his eyes back on Tex. One long, silent look, and then she nodded. He gestured, a motion for her to leave with him - and Locus. He assumed the guy would follow him, anyway. Just like he assumed Texas would come with.

When he started to rise from his seat, Donut spoke, quietly. Which was already out of the norm for him. “Hey, guys?” He paused, just long enough to make sure attention was on him, his eyes flicking from one person to the next. Or maybe to steel himself for what he was about to say. “I, uh… I think I met some of these people.”

Silence.

Just for a instant.

Grif started to speak again, and Wash growled for him to shut up. He motioned for Donut to continue, and he did. “See, you know how I lived on a farm, right?”

An answering sigh from Simmons, a roll of the eyes from Grif. “Yeah, Donut,” Grif said. “We know all about your life on that stupid farm.”

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to,” Donut said. He was staring at his plate again, frowning. “Some people showed up one day and said we were being charged with some crime. Something about us aiding the unlawful presence of someone - “

“Good details,” Grif muttered, and Simmons hissed for him to quiet. “Right. Sorry, Donut. A crime, some people, very scary.”

Donut, somehow, did not glare at Grif. He simply looked up, focusing on Sister. “All of them wore suits and they took my whole family from the farm,” he said. “I don’t even know what happened to them, ‘cause they took me out in the middle of nowhere and just dropped me off. Said I couldn’t come home again or they’d put my dad in prison for the rest of his life. If I stayed here, he’d be free.”

“They got you too,” Sister said, sighing. “What the hell is up with this?”

“Did they leave you on your own?” Wash asked. He was staring at Donut with a fierce concentration.

Donut shook his head. “No, there were  four others.” He paused. “Three didn’t make it. The other, well... That’s how I met Doc. But I don’t think I should tell you what he told me. I mean, it’s his story, right?”

Wash nodded. “Right…”

That was the last thing Felix needed to hear. It was very unlikely that anything these guys said after that would be interesting, and besides, he had a plan to set in motion. He also had Texas watching him, standing as he did. The others looked at them, and Tex said nothing. She was already walking away, intending for Felix to follow her. To the rest, he said a brief goodbye, some bullshit thing he paid no attention to; to Wash, he added, “Stay here, sweetheart,” with a wink. “We’ll fill you in later.”

When he left, Locus was right behind him. Still as silent as ever. Still wearing that helmet. Still a pain in the ass - but somehow, it was comforting to know he didn’t even have to send cues to get Locus to follow.

Outside the cafeteria, Texas was waiting for them. She stood against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, glaring now. “Alright,” she said, “so are you thinking what I am or are we on different paths here?”

Felix paused, breathing deep. He remembered most of what CT had said to him before he had killed her, the type of things she had been so interested in. A few seconds passed before he was sure of what to say. “I’m pretty sure this is what CT was trying to tell me.”

Tex nodded. She tore her gaze from him with an irritated sigh, shaking her head at nothing. “Yeah. That’s what I thought too. Whoever these people in suits are, they’re purposefully trapping people out here.”

“You got that from two stories?” Felix asked. “That’s a bit impressive, Tex, even for you. Good deducing skills, though.”

The look she shot him could have frozen the sun. “These aren’t the first stories I’ve heard,” she snapped. “I know more than you do, you idiot.”

Felix shrugged, leaning back. Like always, Locus was there to support his weight. A hand crept around his waist and he tried not to think about it. “Right. Course you do.” She looked irritated still, but he couldn’t have fixed that. Even if he did care about why those two idiots had been taken here, or the stories they told, he wouldn’t have been able to calm Tex down. When she was angry, him talking a lot tended to make it worse.

Thankfully, he was saved from Tex’s wrath by Church pushing past him. “Hey, Tex,” he said, ignoring Felix. “Can we go get settled in? Tucker’s started hittin’ on Sis, and I don’t wanna deal with that. Not again.”

Tex sent another look Felix’s way, thought he couldn’t tell what for. Then she focused on Church and said, “Yeah. Sure.” As they started to walk away, she turned back to Felix. “You. I’m going to talk to you later, okay?”

“Absolutely.” He watched her walk away with Church beside her, intending to ignore her completely tonight. Whatever Tex wanted from him, it wasn’t important.

Right now, Felix stood up straight, stepping far enough from Locus that the hand fell from his hip. He turned just to see his own reflection in the dark visor, and sighed. He thought about asking if Locus would take the helmet off, but it’d be pointless. Probably would have to deal with it until the two of them were alone somewhere.

What did say was, “Are you gonna stay silent the entire time we’re here? ‘Cause I gotta say, that would be one hell of a feat, even for you.”

In answer, Locus reached up and took the edge of the scarf between two fingers. “Where did you get this?” he asked, voice low.

“It was a gift.” He didn’t say from who. Locus was dragging his fingers up the scarf, and Felix frowned. “What are you doing?”

“It’s very ...green,” Locus said.

One of his gloved fingers stroked Felix’s cheek and he twitched. “I didn’t pick it out, okay?” he said, feeling heat rising in his face. He caught the very quiet sound of Locus laughing and scowled. “Yeah, I know! I get it! It’s funny. I have your color around my neck. Fuck off. Stop laughing.”

“It’s not that. You’re blushing for no reason,” Locus said, ignoring Felix’s snarled insult. “Though I have to admit, the color is very similar.” He pulled his hand from Felix to compare the scarf to the lines of green on his jacket.

“Yeah, I know. I noticed as soon as the damn thing was given to me.”

They were still standing in front of the cafeteria, and people walking by were starting to give them odd looks. Maybe it was because Locus still had his hands on the stupid scarf. Or - and this was a good contender - it was because Locus had reached forward to adjust the scarf around Felix’s neck. He wrapped the length of it around his neck , pulling at it in the front, and Felix smacked his hand away.

“Knock it off,” he said. “We have shit to do.”

Locus lowered his hands, humming lowly. “Lead the way,” he said. “I’d like it if you would tell me what we’re going to do first.”

“Find a room,” Felix answered instantly. “A good one, with a view. But before that, do you still have the van keys? ‘Cause you left your phone in the car, you fuckin’ ass.” He shoved Locus lightly with one hand, huffing out a breath he could see in the cold air. As soon as Locus said that, yes, he did have the keys, Felix turned and started the long walk back to where their van was parked. He told Locus how he had tried to call, how awful it was to have to go look for him with some irritating little soldier.

It wasn’t too interesting of a story, but Felix just wanted to talk. Locus had fallen quiet again, walking beside him. Occasionally, their hands would brush together, which just led to Felix gesturing as he spoke. By the time they arrived back at the van, the sun was sitting low in the sky and Felix had moved onto just how much he hated the snow and how he sorely wished he could just ride his bike through the streets. He had only just gotten the beauty back from that dick little kid, and there was so much snow he couldn’t use it.

He had Locus take the back streets, as the main way through town was currently clogged with civilians. Inside the van, he was free to talk to Locus about their plan - how to start, when to start, what they had to do.

Locus cut him off after only sentence, though. “We’ll figure it all out in the morning,” he said. “Starting with where to place the bombs we have now.”

“Sounds good,” Felix sighed, sinking into his seat. “Same building as last time, if you remember which one that is.”

Locus did remember which one, and parked the van just beneath the one working streetlight. There was a guard at the corner of the building, which was to be expected since this one was literally right at the edge of camp. The fence was maybe thirty feet away, and this sole guard, standing out in the cold, was supposed to be the first line of defense. Felix asked the man which rooms were available while Locus stood there, creeping the man out with that dark helmet on in the dimming light.

Sadly, the room they chose was not as good as Felix remembered the last one being. On the top floor of the building, with one large bed and a small living area - even a tiny kitchen, though Felix would be amazed if that fridge still worked. The appliances left in there were old and wouldn’t even open, but at least the couch was comfortable enough. The windows gave a good view past the camp; it wasn’t quite the spectacular shot of the woods they had been treated to before but it was certainly something to work with.

The guard left them, saying to Felix, “We’ll only disturb you if it’s absolutely necessary.”

Then Felix and Locus were taking things from the van, making trips up the flight of stairs because of course these people weren’t going to divert energy to using an elevator. Locus insisted on taking four guns from the wall; Felix gathered their blankets, grabbed what was left of their jerky and fruit from the outpost. A few changes of clothes, knives and blades, and everything that was still sitting in both their packs.

In the room, there was a space heater to supplement the sparse heating allowed. Felix turned it on as Locus started organizing what they had brought in. He snuck a glance at Locus’s back, watching him check the ammunition he had pulled from the van for the guns currently leaning against the wall. He had the sudden thought that it would be better if Locus would take his jacket off already, so Felix could make out the muscles in his back moving, and then he ground that train of thought to a halt.

He had been trying so hard not to think about Locus in any way but for work, and it just kept turning itself around.

Felix laid the blankets out, thinking of how he was going to be sleeping underneath these with Locus. How it never seemed to matter how many blankets they used, he kept waking up with Locus surrounding him. Either Locus was holding him, or he was pressing against his back. Didn’t help that the bed wasn’t big enough that it would a lot of space between them. He wished for his bed back in Portland, king size and covered by the softest blankets he had been able to find.

And then he remembered, with sudden clarity, how he had woken one day to find Locus in his arms, sleeping soundly. He remembered how his reaction to this had been to settled deeper into the blankets, wind a hand through Locus’s hair, and fall back asleep.

Even with a king size bed, they ended up close, gravitated back to each other.

What fucking bullshit.

Felix emptied his pack, handing the ammunition to Locus to sort and putting everything else in the bedside table. He laid his phone on top of the table and then sat down, staring at his boots and feeling his heart picking up speed.

The silence between them felt heavy somehow. He had to break it, but he didn’t want to speak for fear of spilling out something stupid. It took an absurd amount of effort to take a deep breath and say, “So, what did you think? About the show at dinner?”

Locus paused in what he was doing, tossing Felix a quick glance. His brows were drawn, the helmet having finally been removed and placed on top of the dresser. The look he wore spoke of how pointless he found that question. “I don’t think it matters why they’re here,” he said. “It isn’t our business to know why and I can’t figure out why you were so intent on staying to hear it.”

Felix fidgeted, pulling at his jacket sleeve. “Thought it was interesting,” he said, leaning down to untie his boots. He would never tell Locus that he had devoted so much of his attention just for a distraction, for a way to stop thinking about what was going on between them. “I mean, they’re getting placed here, right? By guys in suits who mean business? Who aren’t above threatening the lives of their families? That’s some heavy shit.”

“I don’t see why you’re so interested,” Locus said.

“Simple curiosity.”

“Is it distracting you from our job?”

He had spoken it so casually and Felix had still frozen in the middle of kicking his boots off. From his job? No. Not really.

Except - it had, kind of. Now that he thought about it. “Oh, fuck,” he sighed, pushing his boots off. He caught Locus staring at him, waiting for him to keep talking. “I was supposed to do something for Kimball today,” Felix said. “Some guys she wanted me to check out. I was finding you ‘cause I thought, y’know… It was something we might need to do together. But - “

“You let those people distract you,” Locus finished for him. He sounded annoyed, and when he set down the ammo to face Felix completely, it was obvious. “You should have told me when you found me about this. We wouldn’t have had to waste time dealing with irrelevant people.”

“Too late now,” Felix muttered. He probably would have remembered, if he could ever stand to get his head away from Locus and a relationship for longer than an hour. “It’s fine, we can do it tomorrow.”

“Why did she want you to do this?”

One look at Locus’s face made it clear that he wasn’t going to let it drop without a full explanation. So Felix gave him one. He recounted the whole conversation with Kimball, watching Locus’s face for clues on how the guy was feeling, and ultimately found nothing. He stopped talking and only had to deal with how goddamn attractive Locus was, and how badly he wanted to mess up his hair that was tied so neatly back.

Locus said, “That should have been taken care of today, Felix.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“You’re going to have us wasting time we could have been using to set everything up.”

“Yeah, I realize that, but it’ll be fine.”

“If anything goes wrong - “

“It won’t be tied back to this.” Felix stood just to pull his jacket off, throwing it on top of the dresser. It covered the ammo Locus had been sorting, and the angry look Locus was giving him just multiplied. “You’re seriously putting too much thought into this,” Felix told him. “I’m telling you, everything will be fine tomorrow. Doesn’t matter if I let myself get distracted by idiots. Those guys she has locked up? They aren’t going anywhere.”

Locus said nothing. He picked up Felix’s jacket and left the room for a while, and when he came back, he had taken his own jacket off and neither was in his hands. Presumably, he had put them somewhere else in this tiny excuse for an apartment, but Felix looked straight to the muscles visible in his arms now and wanted to hit himself.

Sitting there on the bed, Felix also wished he had remembered to ask for a separate room this time. Because he desperately wanted some time away from Locus, and he couldn’t exactly go wandering around the camp at night right now. Not unless he wanted to be pulled into someone’s pointless ‘need’ for him, to be dragged around doing random chores to help useless soldiers. At least in here, no one would bother him. He had privacy.

But he also had Locus, and the fact that nothing seemed to work well enough as a distraction.

After a while, Locus spoke again. He sat down to Felix to pull his boots off, and Felix scooted over an inch or two. “Can you at least tell me why you let yourself get distracted so easily?” he said.

He no longer sounded so irritated, and Felix figured that was why he actually answered truthfully instead of with a bullshit remark. “I wanted to be,” he said. “A distraction… seemed like a good idea. Still does, honestly.”

Locus was watching him now, expression carefully neutral. “Distraction from what?”

Felix hesitated.

And Locus continued with, “Are you still bothered by violent thoughts?”

He wasn’t, actually. Apparently this bullshit with Locus had eaten all of that up. Or the fact that they were so close to pulling off the biggest mass murder either of them had done was placating it for now. Either way, he still took that idea and ran with it. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, it’s not exactly something you can get entirely used to, okay?”

Locus hummed lowly, that quiet way to signal that he understood. He reached for Felix and rested a hand on his knee, squeezing - that reassuring thing again, just like earlier. This time, Felix took his hand and returned it, silent. “It’ll be alright,” Locus said quietly. “You’ll figure things out, in time. You’ll have control.”

Which was a really nice thing to say, Felix was sure, but he was still dealing with his racing heart and how a sudden need to kiss Locus had gripped him. Fuck if he knew why, but even with all the twisted thoughts he was having, kissing Locus just seemed like the best idea right now.

Locus asked, “Is that it?”

“...Sorry, what?”

“If there’s anything else bothering you,” Locus said, “I’d like to know. You need to be focused on what we’re here for, and if I can help you - “

Felix cut him off, squeezing his hand tighter. “Kiss me.”

Locus frowned, and pulled his hand away. “Really? That’s what you want from me?”

Felix nodded. He was thinking about before, in the van, where he had let Locus fuck him and how that had satisfied this gnawing feeling in his chest. That never-ending need for Locus had been soothed then, so maybe it would work now. It was the only excuse he had for what he said next. “Yeah. Kiss me like I’m the most important thing in the world.”

That earned him a look with raised eyebrows, a shift in Locus’s weight in his direction. But he didn’t move any closer, even when Felix grasped his shirt and pulled.

So, he added: “Kiss me like I’m the only thing you care about.”

And that, it seemed, worked a little too well. Locus was pressing into him in an instant, trailing a hand up his thigh and squeezing, wrapping the other around him to rest heavy on his back. Felix was held in place, only needing to wrap his arms around Locus’s neck and pull him in to close the gap between them. It was hesitant at first, as if Locus was still unsure if this was what he wanted - and then Felix sighed against his lips and the hesitation was replaced with force. Left Felix feeling breathless before he had even opened his mouth at Locus’s insistence.

This could actually work, he was sure of it. As long as he stopped thinking, let himself fall into the feeling of Locus’s hands holding onto him and the way he kissed. Nothing else mattered right now. He told himself that as Locus pulled back to kiss a light trail down his neck.

He didn’t have to think. And if he thought that enough, it might actually work. He might be able to ignore how he had asked for this, and how much he was enjoying it. If this was what it felt like to be kissed this way, like he was the only thing Locus cared for, then this was all Felix wanted. Dimly, that thought worried him, but then Locus had kissed him again, and he didn’t care. There was fire running through his veins, and his pulse was racing - but all of that was all right so long as this didn’t stop. He was making small noises into Locus’s mouth, whines and quiet moans and low, keening sounds - because, good lord, even when Locus bit at his lip and pulled, it was softer and gentler somehow. It was strange. He was certain they had made out like this before but it hadn’t felt like this.

Locus pulled back just barely, for a second, and Felix said, “Jesus holy Christ… if that’s what you kiss like, what would happen if I asked you fuck me like I was all you cared about?” He said it without thinking and mentally kicked himself, but it was fine.

He didn’t get an answer, just Locus leaning in and kissing him again. One hand twisted in his hair, the other brought them closer together, clinging to his back. There was something else to it now, something in the way that he clutched at Felix and the way he kissed. Something like desperation, like he was trying to put something into this that he couldn’t say - Felix kissed him back with the same force, the same edge of eagerness tripping into desperation. Didn’t think about why he was returning it, or what it might mean. It had Locus making those low groans that were so rare.

Felix didn’t want it to stop, leaning forward when Locus pulled away again. Locus was holding him back, pushing at his shoulders, and Felix fell back with an annoyed noise. That had worked better than he had thought - different than he had thought. He was no longer plagued by confusion. He just wanted Locus, and for this to continue.

He said, “You’re not gonna stop, are you?”

One of Locus’s hands was on his neck then. “You can’t be serious about sex,” he said. His fingers were sliding up Felix’s neck, not helping his racing pulse at all.

He wasn’t really, but he certainly wouldn’t turn it down right now. “Why not?”

“We had sex yesterday.”

“So? What’s your point?” A smirk. “Getting too old to fuck two nights in a row?”

Locus sighed, his fingers leaving Felix’s neck. “How many orgasms did you have yesterday?”

“That doesn’t matter. Why are you arguing this?” He wanted Locus to keep touching him, to stop pulling back. If sex made that happen, then, yes. He wanted to fuck.

Whatever it took to keep his mind clear.

Locus sighed. “I assumed you would have been satisfied for a while, but apparently I was wrong.” He was looking at Felix intently, brow furrowed slightly. Felix had the impression he was actually thinking about this, turning the idea of sex over in his mind. Analyzing it. It was stupid, so foolish, so much a Locus type of thing that he smiled at the thought of it.

Finally, Locus said, “So. What you want is to have sex where it feels like I care about you. Is that right?”

Felix’s smile flared into a grin. “Like I’m all you care about,” he clarified. “Like - like I’m the most important thing in the goddamn world to you.” He was staring into Locus’s eyes and stomping out every thought that told him this was going too far. He’d deal with it later, much later. Definitely after tonight, maybe after he had dealt with his own emotions and the job was over.

But then Locus moved forward to kiss him again and Felix’s thoughts melted into nothing. He started to lean back, pulling Locus with him, to lie down and see what happened. It was going to be nice and slow he assumed. Maybe Locus would hold him, press them together, draw it out and leave Felix a mess.

Locus stopped him again, hands tight on Felix’s arms. “No,” he said. “Not like that.”

“So, what? You want me to ride you?”

All Locus did was smile briefly and shake his head. He leaned forward just to mouth along Felix’s neck, hands under Felix’s shirt now, flat against his stomach. He helped Felix strip, then pulled Felix’s hands to his own clothes. Locus let Felix undress him, still quiet, leaning forward to kiss him softly. Felix leaned into him, pressing their hips together. For a moment, their legs were tangled but then Locus moved, made room for Felix to settle between his legs.

Locus’s skin was hot where they touched, warmth boiling over and into him, and Felix had a desire to take all of it. To keep that kind of warmth to himself, for himself. He looked at Locus, at how he was holding himself up with both elbows, and sudden clarity exploded in his mind.

“Oh. Ohhh, shit.” He knew he sounded a bit idiotic, and the way he was staring at Locus wasn’t helping, but seriously, he hadn’t thought about this. “I didn’t think this was a choice.” Locus was smiling, and Felix mirrored the look, laughing quietly. “I’m not wrong, am I? Like, this is what we’re doing?”

“Only if you stop talking and get on with it,” Locus said. “If you take too long, I might change my mind.”

Felix grinned, taking himself in one hand and stroking slowly; after a second, he paused to take hold of Locus’s cock as well, thrusting into his hand and sliding against the other’s shaft. Made him inhale shakily, biting at his lip. He could hear the very quiet noise Locus made at the movements, something he would never get tired of hearing.

He was going to draw this out as long as he could, test Locus’s patience and just how much he meant what he said. It’d be disappointing to have Locus flip things, but for now, he wanted to savor all of it. He started to stroke along both their cocks, because really, holding himself - holding Locus, feeling Locus growing hard under his hand - that just needed his attention.

But then Locus was lying down, reaching up to pull Felix with him. He stopped when he rested against the blankets, when Felix had to let them both go to prop himself up on one hand. The other was resting on the bare skin of Locus’s stomach, close enough to feel the rise and fall of his steady breathing. Felix was still grinning and he leaned down to kiss Locus again, slow and languid, as he moved his hips to rub their cocks together.

When he pulled away, Locus’s hands were on his back again, falling slowly back down to his hips. Felix was still close enough so that when he spoke, it was almost a whisper and Locus still heard it. “I’m gonna need a condom, I assume.”

“It’s fine,” Locus said. “Pull out. Or at least try. You’re not exactly good at restraining yourself.”

Felix snorted. “I always exercise great restraint.”

“The last time we did this, you came inside me and laughed about it.”

He grinned, kissed Locus again, and withdrew to dig through the bedside table for the lube. If Locus said no condoms, then who was he to argue?

This was not at all what he had expected, but Felix was excited just by this idea of it. He had Locus - powerful, domineering asshole that he was - laid out before him, naked and waiting for Felix to take him. He hadn’t fucked Locus in a while, had been allowing Locus to lay claim to him instead. Not that he ever minded that; there was always something fantastic about Locus fucking him raw, filling him, unraveling him to pure pleasure.

But this. This was even better than all of that.

Locus was giving him control, giving him power. Actual real power in their sex, not just giving Felix whatever he asked for. For every moment of this, Felix was in charge and this time, he was going to aim to make his partner come undone in every way possible. There was something else to it, something about how this was happening now just because Felix had asked to be fucked like he was the only thing Locus cared about. There was something in this, some connection that he could almost make. But he was positioning himself between Locus’s legs, sliding a finger slowly into him, and this wasn’t the time to think about that.

He moved slowly, easing the one finger inside of Locus before adding another and working on spreading him open. Felix didn’t seem able to do anything other than move slow, attention rapt on Locus’s face. There was this constant flutter of nerves in his gut, something that wouldn’t go away.

And Locus hadn’t looked away from him either. His eyes were on Felix’s face as he was worked open, intense and heavy and making Felix’s heart thud against his ribs. He wanted so badly not to do anything wrong here - which was stupid, he had never done anything wrong while fucking Locus before so it shouldn’t be a problem, shouldn’t even occur to him. It wouldn’t go away though, not even when Locus tore his eyes from Felix to lay his head back.

It was good, though, so fucking good just to watch Locus start to move underneath him. Felix watched as he added a third finger, twisting and stretching. He watched Locus breathing hard, lips parted. Locus’s hands came up to grip his arms tightly, nails digging into his skin, and Felix only knew he had hit the right spot when Locus groaned quietly.

Felix leaned down and kissed him, still moving his fingers slowly. When he pulled back, Locus breathed out his name against his lips. It was amazing and Felix found himself grinning. “Do you need something?” he asked. “Or do you just like saying my name?”

One of Locus’s hands was running down his back. His eyes were focused on Felix again, not quite a glare. He didn’t say anything.

So Felix pressed purposefully into him again, drawing out another low groan. “Gonna have to give me a hint,” he said quietly. “C’mon, Locus, baby. Tell me what you want from me.”

Apparently Locus didn’t care for how Felix was talking to him. He pushed up on one arm, reaching down to grasp Felix’s cock and stroke it roughly. “Do it,” he growled. “before I change my mind.”

“Mmm, so impatient.” Felix kissed Locus’s face then, repeating the same motions with his fingers again, and again. Just to hear the groans spilling from Locus’s lips, deep and rumbling. Fucking amazing. When he leaned back, pulling his fingers from Locus, he was smirking again. “Should ask nicer next time, babe. You’re lucky I’m not in the mood to punish you.”

He could see Locus rolling his eyes.

As he slicked his cock with lube, Felix said, “Hey. Next time, can I tie you down?”

“We don’t have anything with us,” Locus said.

“Then when we get back?”

Locus started to speak, and it dissolved into a hiss as Felix started to push into him. Felix dug his hands into Locus’s thighs, clawed down to his hips to move the both of them as he slid in farther. He watched Locus’s face for when he was good, talking as his partner adjusted. “Yeah, when we’re back. I’ll tie you to the bedframe.” He leaned down to kiss Locus’s cheek, felt as Locus turned his head to return it. “Make sure it’s tight. Keep you still.” He started moving, slow, shallow thrusts. “I’ll need to blindfold you. Then I can do whatever I want to you.”

The idea he was forming was almost better than what he was doing and Felix had to stop for a second to shake his head, as if that would stow the thoughts away. He kissed Locus again, softly, and said, “But that’s later, right?”

“After we’re home,” Locus agreed, voice soft. His eyes were trained on Felix again as he kept moving, picking up speed.

Something about Locus watching him was exhilarating and Felix was smiling as he set a steady pace. It was still slow, and he thought he should go faster, fuck Locus fast and rough, see if he could make those groans grow in volume. But then he laid a hand on Locus’s stomach, felt the muscles tensing under his hand - and Locus was holding onto him still, hands tight on his hips, just holding as he moved. Everything about Locus was drawing him in, becoming all he could focus on.

Felix let out a breathy moan, hand sliding over to squeeze Locus’s hip. “Goddammit, Locus. You’re fucking gorgeous…”

Locus’s response was a moan of his own, quiet. Then one of his hands ran over to Felix’s ass, squeezing so tight it was almost painful. He growled, something that made the fire reignite in Felix’s veins. “Move faster,” he said, voice rough.

Felix laughed, shaky breaths forming the sounds. He rolled his hips, pulling out just enough to slide back in, aiming now for that one spot to make Locus moan and shake beneath him. He’d go faster when he found it, when hard thrusts would have Locus trembling.

He ran his hands over Locus’s sides, his stomach, his chest - everywhere. He couldn’t stop touching, feeling all of Locus’s muscles. He leaned down again to take advantage of those parted lips, and then Locus’s arms slid around him. One twisted in his hair, pulling Felix into a kiss that was just as slow as his languid thrusts. Felix eased his arms under Locus as they separated, tugging him closer, and he could hear Locus’s quiet noises and soft moans. Felix was cursing quietly, groaning, and he had to force himself quieter to listen to Locus, soak up all those noises.

Locus had a hand clamped on Felix’s hip again, growling in between thrusts, and when Felix found the right spot, the growls stopped. Locus moaned, and Felix breathed out a soft, “Fuck,” at the sound. It was almost beautiful. He moved faster after that, and Locus responded by wrapping his legs around Felix’s waist and keeping him there. Felix reached between them to grasp Locus’s cock, pumping in time with his thrusts. He wanted to be the sole source of Locus’s orgasm - the only reason for Locus to feel so good.

He rose, slowly, from where he was pressed against Locus, pressing a hand to his partner’s chest. Locus was shaking, becoming lost in it, and Locus held him like he was going to shatter - no, like Felix was going to break him into pieces, breathing out his name on soft moans.

Felix loved it. He savored it for as long as he could, until his movements became less fluid and more feverish, more erratic. Even after he came, buried as far into Locus as he could get, he stayed there, bringing Locus to his own orgasm and through it. Then, with Locus’s cum on his hand and smeared over his fingers, Felix pulled out and leaned down to kiss Locus again. Short, breathless, but absolutely necessary.

It wasn’t until he was lying on Locus, head resting at the base of Locus’s throat, that Felix remembered he was supposed to have pulled out. He sighed, feeling the heat spreading from Locus’s hand at the small of his back. “Forgot,” he mumbled. “Came inside you. Sorry.”

With his head lying where it was, he could feel the silent laughter that shook Locus. “It’s fine,” Locus said. His voice was quiet, fingers tracing circles over Felix’s skin as he spoke. “I expected it.”

Felix smiled. “Course you did. Asshole.” He was glad Locus chose not to answer that; it felt like too pleasant of a moment to ruin with petty nonsense. He wanted to lay here for hours, wanted to let the afterglow coast straight into sleep, but then Locus’s hands were on his hips, lifting him up.

They headed to the bathroom together, where towels and washcloths had already been set up. Felix claimed the shower, tossing Locus a wet rag to clean himself with. He wasn’t surprised at all when Locus invited himself in. The shower was long - for Felix at least. Locus had left after about ten minutes, planting a kiss on one of Felix’s shoulders before leaving him there.

Alone, Felix only thought that he had been right. All those nagging thoughts had died out again. He had won.

He joined Locus on the bed again, toweled and dry, and more than ready to lose himself in sleep before anything else could weigh his mind down. The bed creaked as he slid beneath the covers next to Locus. He thought that this whole thing of falling asleep after sex was such a lazy habit, and he really had to stop doing it, but he was expecting to turn into Locus and curl up even now. It was just so easy to let it happen when Locus was so warm and it was so comfortable.

Locus turned the lights out, and Felix was already reaching for him.

But instead of him nudging his way into Locus’s space, he was faced with Locus pressing into him instead. Locus, snaking his arms around Felix’s waist and pulling him close. Locus pressing his face into Felix’s neck, nuzzling and breathing deeply. For a moment, Felix hesitated. The lightest spark of nerves were fluttering in his gut again as Locus kissed his neck lightly.

Something was telling him again that he had missed a connection. That there was something about fucking Locus like he had just done that was linked to what he had requested in the first place. Felix had wanted to feel like Locus cared for him - for whatever reason - and it had seemed like such a great idea. It was a great idea, actually, if it meant having sex like that.

Felix stomped the thoughts out just long enough to bring his arms around Locus, to pull his partner close. He twisted a hand into Locus’s hair, tangling loose strands around his fingers, and rested the other on Locus’s shoulder. Neither of them spoke. Locus shifted against Felix, adjusting his grip. He slid a leg between Felix’s, and Felix responded to all of it by pressing his lips against Locus’s temple.

It was easy to give Locus small affections, easy to unwind his fingers from the man’s hair just to pull more of it down and play with it. It was easy to run his hand down Locus’s bicep and back up again, sliding over to his shoulders and pressing against the muscle. It was easy because he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing. He was feeling Locus all around him, thinking about the sex they had just had, what he had asked for, and he felt like he had almost figured it out.

There was something there and he knew it, but it just wouldn’t come to the front of his mind. If he could just grasp it, it might even be the solution to why everything about Locus had been making him so antsy lately. He might even be able to go back to how it should be, with everything about their partnership being easy.

In the dark, Felix said, “Locus? I, uh… I asked for you to fuck me. What made you want to…” He paused, brow furrowing as he tried to find the words.

Locus spoke against his throat, finishing the thought for him. “Why did I let you fuck me instead?”

“...Yeah.”

Before he answered, Locus pulled back from him, just enough for him to be able to look at Felix. He pulled one hand from around Felix, pressing it against his cheek softly. When he spoke, it was quiet. “I thought it might help you figure some things out.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been five years, Felix,” Locus said quietly. “I can’t make you realize it and I can’t force you to understand things. You have to do it yourself.”

Felix said nothing. He waited, hoping there was something else there because Locus wasn’t making a lot of sense right now.

After a moment, Locus’s hand fell as he sat up. He waited until Felix had sat back up as well, and then said, “To give you what you asked for, and to help you, I gave you control over all of it.”

He frowned. Didn’t really answer his question. There had been times before where it felt like something more than sex, for one thing. For another, what was all that about helping him? What was he supposed to understand just from fucking Locus?

Locus was still talking. That was new, he usually wouldn’t talk so much about their sex life of all things. “I thought that, with what you now know about our partnership, you would understand now.”

Oh, good. The relationship was back again. That was still a thing, and Felix was freezing up again at the mention of it. He had finally managed to rid himself of the thoughts and Locus went and pulled them all back up. And after such good sex too. He sat there, glaring at Locus and wishing he could pry the answers out of him without the cryptic bullshit.

Instead, he forced himself to calm down and think. Locus wanted him to know something. Locus thought he would understand something just from sex, from letting Felix fuck him. But he had fucked Locus before, usually rougher than tonight, but not too different. He thought about times when he had fucked Locus and it had felt like something deeper than just mere sex, and then times when Locus would have him and make him feel something. And then times when Locus would give him whatever he wanted, when Locus would divert all of his attention to Felix and nothing else.

It took a few more seconds, but then something clicked into place.

Felix’s frown vanished, replaced by a wide-eyed stare. He pushed himself further away from Locus. He felt his heart picking up pace again. When he spoke, it was quiet, but it sounded so loud.

He said, “Do you… love me...?” It seemed so simple, but if it was true, then this stupid relationship was more of a problem than he had thought.

Locus didn’t say anything. His face barely changed at all - there was a flicker of surprise, but that quickly masked.

It was the only explanation Felix could find, the only reason why having sex like they did would mean more now that he knew about their relationship. The only reason why it would answer Felix’s stupid need to feel like Locus cared.

Locus still hadn’t said anything, which really only confirmed Felix’s thoughts.

Locus loved him.

And he had let it happen. Hadn’t stopped it, hadn’t left - not permanently, never permanently. He always dragged himself himself back to Locus. Always let Locus pull him close and kiss him in a way that stopped him from thinking.

He said, “You actually do love me, don’t you?”

Locus sighed. “Yes, Felix,” he said quietly.

Felix tensed, staring at Locus like he hadn’t ever actually seen him before. There was another pause before he spoke. He wasn’t sure what made him say it because, really, that alone should have been enough. But then he was sitting there, staring at Locus. He looked at Locus, at the tension in his shoulders, the shadows that covered his face in the dim light, the way his hair was falling around his collarbone. Felix  said, “Say it,” and in the silence that followed, he felt his heart pounding.

Locus looked at him like he still couldn’t believe what Felix was asking of him - and really, Felix couldn’t blame him. They were still touching under the blankets, pressing together naturally but he was so goddamn aware of every movement Locus made. Every small shift of his body and the way he rubbed against Felix when he did - things that were normally ignored but kept drawing Felix’s attention. It was driving him mad ‘cause he was rooted to the spot, not doing anything but holding Locus’s gaze.

And all Locus said was, “Felix…”

“ _Say_ it.”

Locus’s eyes narrowed, his mouth twitched, but at least he didn’t look away. He said, “I love you.” It actually sounded natural, even though it was strange to hear it in his voice, and Felix’s breath caught in his throat. But, god… It was like Locus was so sure of himself in this, not even a second of hesitation. No pause in the words, nothing.

Just simple words that sounded like he meant them.

Felix realized too late that Locus’s gaze had softened, that Locus had stilled and was watching him for a reaction. And all he was doing was staring blankly. He blinked, breathed deeply. “Okay…” he said quietly. “Okay. Right.” He watched Locus raise both eyebrows slightly and then snapped his eyes away, looked into a dark corner in the room. He separated himself from Locus, pulling away until he could lay down under the covers with his back to the other man.

As if not looking at him would take this away. Goddamn, he had asked for this, had to hear Locus say it and now his heart was seizing in his chest. It was like it was caught between beating too hard and quitting entirely. Who knew hearing that would affect him so fucking badly?

He heard Locus sighing behind him, heard the bed creaking as he moved. Felix was clutching the blankets with one hand, a pillow with another, staring blankly ahead. He could still feel the heat coming off of Locus. After a moment, he twisted around to reach for Locus, searching until he had grasped Locus’s arm - or until Locus had reached out and taken his hand, whatever. He pulled without thinking, yanking Locus forward by his hand. Felix turned again, putting his back to Locus and wrapping Locus’s arm around him, pressing it to his chest and trying desperately to ignore how Locus had woven their fingers together.

In the dark, he said, “Don’t let this change anything.” It was quiet, almost a whisper.

But then he felt the mattress sinking behind him, heard the bed creaking again as Locus slid into the space behind him. He moved slowly, carefully, as if he was ready to pull back if he had to. He fit against Felix’s back easily, tightened his grip on Felix’s hand and pressed him close. His head rested at the base of Felix’s neck, where Felix could feel his hair falling onto his back, where he could feel Locus’s even breathing against his skin. Tension was fading out of him; Locus was rubbing his thumb along the back of his hand, and Felix closed his eyes slowly. Locus was warm and the steady breathing against his neck, the slow motion against his hand, it was calming him. Evening out his breathing and his heart rate.

Felix relaxed against Locus until he was squeezing the fingers between his. This was how things were supposed to feel, he thought. Easy, natural. He thought that Locus was where he should be, confessions be damned.


End file.
